Chapter Three

Even when travelling with a royal, the journey from London to the wilds of Scotland was not a short one. Arthur and I travelled to Heathrow by car and boarded a small private aircraft. From there, it was just under a two-hour jaunt from London to Aberdeen. Once we landed in Aberdeen, a helicopter was waiting to take us on the final end of our journey. It was well past midnight by the time the helicopter settled on the darkened grounds of Balmoral Castle.

Luckily, wine had been free-flowing on the flight, so I wasn't too tired when Arthur helped me step off the helicopter and onto the soft lawn. We headed towards the main house, and I shivered, glad that Freya had talked me into wearing a knit dress. Arthur had dismissed the staff at Balmoral prior to our arrival, so it was the heir apparent himself who took my bag from the helicopter and showed me to my room.

The room he took me too was small and draped in dark red hangings and wallpaper that made it look much older and statelier than it actually was. The bed was reasonably sized and looked comfortable. All the furniture was dark, polished oak. An armchair by the window was also covered in deep red fabric and looked surprisingly inviting.

"The Queen Adelaide room." Arthur said, "Smaller than others, but quite cosy. I'm told that my great-great grandmother was very fond of it."

I paused. "Queen Adelaide married… King Victor?"

Arthur nodded. "Yup, King Edward VII's oldest son, and grandson of Queen Victoria. He was actually called Albert-Victor but decided to honour his grandmother by dropping his first name when he ascended, just as she did. It was him who changed the family name to Pendragon after World War One, too."

"Oh," I looked around, noticing the electric lights. "It must have been updated since she was here."

Arthur chuckled. "We like to keep as much history as we can—so long as it doesn't interfere with our access to modern comforts. The ensuite is just there." He nodded to a heavy wood door. "Leave the shower on for five minutes or so before you get in it—the water heaters take forever to work up here. Shall I leave you to sleep, or are you feeling awake?"

"I wouldn't mind another glass of wine." I admitted. It was true, and I didn't feel like bidding goodnight to the prince just yet.

Arthur smiled. "This way, then."

We left my bag in the Queen Adelaide room, and headed down a long corridor. Despite its size, Balmoral felt considerably smaller than the massive walls of Kensington Palace. It was also packed with family heirlooms—antique furniture and old paintings. The little girl in me wanted to try every door and open every drawer—but I refrained, and followed Arthur down into a large sitting room, whose wood floor was covered in rugs.

"Have you spent a lot of time here?"

He nodded. "I like Scotland best. It's wilder, and further away from everything. I daresay it's what's kept me sane all these years."

"I haven't spent a lot of time in Scotland."

"No?"

"No, I came here for university and I was in Canada before that."

"Whereabouts in Canada?"

"Vancouver."

"Ah, so you're a city girl."

"Born and bred."

"So your family is at home in Canada?"

I nodded. "Yup. My parents and one brother. And a cat, but she's a grouchy old thing that ignores me most of the time."

Arthur laughed, and pushed the door open to reveal an elaborately draped sitting room with chairs that looked like you could sink so far into them that you would never be found again. "I've never had a cat. Mother always preferred Pomeranians. Father still keeps them around. And heaven knows he's been presented with odd gifts over the years."

"Oh?"

Arthur had gone to a cupboard, he opened it and sighed. "I'm afraid there's only port in here. I can call for wine, if you'd prefer?"

"Port is fine." I said, even though I'd never had it.

Arthur gave me a smile, and then knelt down and pulled out two small glasses and an old bottle. He poured the delicate liquid and came back to me, handing me a glass. He held his up. "To new beginnings?"

"That's rather sure of yourself." I teased but clinked my glass against his nonetheless. "To taking chances."

Arthur gave me a grin that I'd never seen in any tabloid and motioned to one of the soft armchairs by a large window. I took the lead, and we settled into the chairs that were just as comfy as they looked.

I took a sip of port, and to my surprise I found that I liked it. It had the tartness I expected from red wine (which was my favourite) but an underlying sweetness that pulled it apart from any alcohol I'd had in the past. "I like it." I said and swirled the glass. It was only after I'd done this that I wondered if you were meant to swirl port. "But then, perhaps it's not the best sample, since it probably cost more than my flat."

Arthur smirked. "I wondered if you were a port newbie, but thought it was rude to ask. That, or you'd think I was completely and utterly up myself."

"Is port your regular drink of choice, then?"

"Sometimes." Arthur smiled. "So, tell me, Guinevere—if I weren't a Prince, would you have gone on holiday with me so quickly?"

I shrugged. "Depends on how well you sold it to me, Arthur. And that's not a fair question."

"Oh?"

"No, because what if you weren't a prince, but you were equally as rich or famous? You imply that I wouldn't have said yes. But many people can be as rich and famous as royals, without the title."

Arthur shrugged. "But royals are infinitely more romantic."

"Oh?"

"Sure. We're in fairytales. You don't find One Direction in fairytales."

"Clearly you haven't spent a lot of time on FanFiction." I muttered.

"I beg your pardon—on what?"

"You've not heard of FanFiction?"

"No?"

I laughed gleefully. "Do you have your phone on you?"

He paused, and then hesitantly handed it over.

oOo

Over the next hour we drank two more glasses of port, and I began to feel more and more sleepy. Arthur must have noticed my drooping eyelids because he put down his glass, grinning at me. "Shall I show you back to your bedroom, then?"

I yawned, wishing that I could say no, but knowing that I'd have to say yes. Had I looked outdoors, I would have seen that dawn was breaking over the horizon and realised that Arthur and I had been up almost all night. Instead, I set my glass down on the wooden table beside me and hoisted myself from the chair. My head spun when I stood, and I shook it vigorously, trying to clear it.

"It's a bit stronger than your average glass of wine." Arthur said, a little sheepishly. He offered me his hand. "Here, let me help you."

Together we made our way down the twisting corridors of Balmoral. I tried to register everything I saw, and make sense of my surroundings, but it was too big to memorise that late at night. Finally, Arthur stopped outside a door that looked vaguely familiar.

"This is you." He nodded at the door but didn't make a move to leave.

"This is me." I repeated softly, turning and pressing my back against the doorframe. "Thank you for inviting me, Arthur."

Arthur grinned, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt it leap into my throat. I stood frozen, gazing up at him. The beat passed, and then Arthur stepped away from me, and quickly bowed his chin. Looking up at me again, he smiled. "Goodnight, Guinevere."

My voice was breathless. "Goodnight, Arthur."

And then he turned and was gone.

oOo

The next morning, I awoke relatively early, considering my late night. My mouth was dry, and my head pounded faintly. After a moment of squeezing my eyes shut, and wondering if I could grab sleep again, I resigned myself to my fate and went to the ensuite to get some water. I saw no glasses, so drank straight from the tap. I quizzically opened the medicine cabinet, wondering if there was any paracetamol, but it was empty and dusty. With a sigh, I returned to bed. But bed was too warm, and sun had already begun to creep into the room through the curtains I had forgotten to close the night before.

Sleep was clearly not going to happen.

I rolled over and reached for my phone, checking to see if Arthur had texted me. When my phone informed me that I had no messages, and no signal, I gave up, and got out of bed. When I had my dressing gown and slippers on, I paused. Was I allowed to wander around the castle without Arthur? Would some security guard see me and tackle me on sight? With another glance at my phone, which I had stashed in my dressing gown pocket, I decided to risk it.

I crept out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. The corridor beyond my room was dark, the wood floor lined with a tartan carpet that nearly reached to the walls. I glanced around: where did royals keep their WiFi password? After looking back and forth a few times, I decided to go right and slipped down the corridor. At the end of the corridor was a large window that overlooked a landscaped courtyard, and to my right was a short passage that led to stairs that I could only imagine were intended for servants. At the bottom of the stairs, the flooring changed from wood to red clay tiles. My slippers hissed on the floor as I made my way down the corridor. At the end of the corridor I came to an open door and stepped through.

"Wow." I breathed, as I came to a halt just by the doorway.

Inside was a vast kitchen, with sleek granite tiling. The room was divided in half by a large set of cupboards, holding an oven and stove. The stove could be accessed from either end of the room, since it rested in its own canyon between the ceiling-high cupboards. When I turned to the wall next to me, I saw four fridges stood neatly side by side. I walked slowly around, trying to memorise everything I was seeing. Although it was modern, the style of the kitchen fit well with the countryside aesthetic that Balmoral boasted. The window over the sink looked out on a small gravel driveway.

My stomach grumbled, and I looked around, hoping to spy something to eat. I started to make my way through the cupboards and was surprised by the relatively mundane brands and food I found inside.

"May I help you?"

I spun around and came face to face with a blonde woman who was wearing a sleek silk nightgown and matching dressing gown. I had not heard her come in, nor had I noticed that the kitchen was occupied when I had entered. However, from the angle I stood at then, I could see the table on the other side of the stove and cupboards and guessed from the opened newspaper that I had been the one to intrude.

"Are you deaf?" The woman snapped, and I realised I had been staring at her. "What on earth are you doing here? Staff have their own kitchen."

"I—" Suddenly, I recognised her, and my stomach twisted. Standing in front of me was none other than Her Royal Highness The Princess Morgause. Arthur didn't tell me there'd be family here. I smiled and bowed my head slightly. "Apologies, Your Royal Highness."

"Who are you?" She repeated, her thin lips pressing into a line. "I told you that staff have their own kitchen. This kitchen is for members of my family and their guests. You must leave immediately, and I will be reporting you to Olena."

Her words, and the harsh tone that accompanied them, left me momentarily speechless. "Excuse me, Your Royal Highness—I'm not staff."

"Than who are you?"

"Calm down, Morgause, she's a guest of mine. You needn't be so rude to her."

Prince Charming to the rescue. Arthur had entered the room and stood a few paces away from me at the edge of the kitchen island. The look Morgause shot her half-brother after he spoke made the glares she had been shooting at me look like a doting mother's smile. "I wasn't aware you were coming this weekend, Arthur."

"Are you certain about that?" Arthur's voice was polite, but I could hear the sarcasm squirming underneath. "Father has known since Wednesday and made sure that Olena had it in her itinerary. She must have informed you."

Morgause sniffed. "She must have forgotten." She glanced between me and Arthur. "In any case, I'm so glad you're back on the prowl, Arthur. I thought Elena leaving you had destroyed you for life." She gave me a mean smirk. "You know her? Lady Elena George, she and Arthur used to be… close." She focused her eyes back on her half-brother. "Many even thought she might one day be Queen. Anyway, it was so nice to meet you. May I ask your name?"

I was taken aback. "My name is Guinevere, ma'am."

"Guinevere, how… eccentric." She smiled, almost sweetly and eyed my tatty T-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms, I fought the urge to close my M&S dressing gown over my 'Sleepysaurus' T-shirt. "I'm going to retire to my rooms now, but how lovely to see you, Arthur. I do love our family reunions."

Arthur did not reply and stood sullenly as she swept past him and out of the room, her newspaper forgotten. After a long moment of silence, he looked at me. "I am sorry about that."

"I—don't worry about it." I frowned at the door. "Have you fought with her?"

Arthur's answering smile was humourless. "No, not that." He ran a hand through his bedhead, making the already tousled hair look even more ruffled. It was surprisingly cute, and I almost smiled. "If only she could like me as much as her mother does, eh?"

Of course. Princess Morgause, and her sister Princess Morgana were the daughters of King Uther and his first wife, Anna Stepanovich. I hadn't been born yet, but I knew that in 1989 the then-Prince of Wales had divorced his wife among a sea of controversy. Although officially no reason for the divorce was given when it was announced, many speculated that it was due to Anna's inability to produce a son. King Uther's apparent sexism and inability to accept a daughter as the next monarch, was one of the many reasons that his popularity had suffered throughout his adulthood. The speculation that King Uther had reflected his ancestor Henry VIII and rejected his first wife on these grounds, was only fuelled by his decision to marry Arthur's mother Igraine Lithgow only a year after his divorce. The birth of a son in 1991 had helped no one, and had angered many who supported Anna, since it was argued that her daughters should retain their places in the line of succession as she had been his first wife, and thus her marriage to Uther held precedence over his marriage to Igraine.

But the Church of England supported the Prince of Wales in proclaiming that his son Arthur was the rightful heir to the throne behind his father. Nine years later, when King Uther ascended the throne, the church reinforced this belief, and Arthur was made The Prince of Wales at only nine years old.

I frowned. "I thought that The Duchess of Montrose was okay with the order of the line of succession—perhaps even comforted by the freedom her daughters received as a result of your brother and you preceding them."

Arthur had two "full" siblings and two half-siblings—his younger brother, The Prince Edward was nineteen and studying at Oxford. Like his brother, Edward had usurped Princess Morgana and Princess Morgause's places in the line of succession at the time of his birth. Arthur's sister The Princess Henriette was twenty-three and known for her lavish lifestyle, which was likely due in part to her lack of responsibility and relative importance, as she was fifth in line for the throne behind her older and younger brother, and two older half-sisters. Hello! Magazine had once affectionately called her "the headache of the Royal Family."

"Of course, Anna was fine with it. She wasn't insane." Arthur replied, and turned away, looking for something in a cupboard.

Following her divorce from Uther, Anna had married Gerald Devereux, Viscount Derwent. While she had officially been styled as Lady Derwent, Anna had chosen to continue using her Princess of Wales title, sans Her Royal Highness. Upon his succession, Uther had officially stripped her of that title, but had granted her husband the duchy of Montrose, likely in the hope that his treatment of a public figure as popular as his first wife was would not cause him to lose his throne. In any case, for the last sixteen years Anna, Princess of Wales had been known as Her Grace The Duchess of Montrose. It felt strange to have her called, "Anna" so candidly.

"Well, at least you know no family reunion will ever be boring."

Arthur smirked. "They're certainly something. My mother can barely stand the woman."

"I thought you and The Duchess were quite close?"

Arthur stood, putting some crumpets and jam onto the table. His head then dived into a fridge. "Oh, we are. She's a second mother to me. Or a first." He came back, this time dumping eggs and bacon onto the table. He rolled his eyes, and for a moment I was caught up in how they were a curious aquamarine colour. "I shouldn't complain, though. Being the Queen is a full-time job."

Her Majesty The Queen was almost as unpopular as King Uther was himself. The mother of Arthur, Edward and Henriette, Queen Igraine was known for her lavish tastes and snobbish attitudes. A spoiled aristocrat from birth, Queen Igraine had famously thrown a fit when her husband had asked her to be known publicly by the feminine form of one of his lesser titles, instead of Princess of Wales. The word of the tantrum had reached the public due to a leaked phone conversation that had been dubbed Igrainegate. Buckingham Palace had tried to exercise damage-control, promising the public that Anna would retain the title of Princess of Wales and Igraine would be known as Her Royal Highness The Countess of Chester, but despite their best efforts, Igraine had not been able to repair the damage to her reputation.

No wonder she didn't like Anna's continued presence at royal events. Although considering King Uther's reputation for sexism and control, I doubted she had any say over the matter.

"What does The Duchess's husband think of all of this?" I asked, sitting down at a table. It was none of my business, but since Arthur had mentioned them…

Arthur shrugged. "He's probably not pleased, but he'd be a fool to try and cross Father." He looked down at the eggs. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

I shook my head. "Bacon is too good." I admitted. "Besides, my grandpa lived on a farm in Canada. They had turkeys, and every time it rained they had to rush to get the turkeys inside."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What?"

I nodded, grinning. "Yup. They're really stupid. When they felt water on their heads, they would look up—with their mouths open—and just stand there until they drowned because their throats filled with water. I wanted to be a vegetarian when I was a teenager, and my grandpa was disgusted with me. He told me if I could eat a carrot, I could at least eat a turkey."

Arthur laughed. "I hadn't heard that before."

"Nor had I." I admitted. Many of my vegetarian friends objected to this reasoning, arguing that the intelligence of a creature was no basis for eating it. On that basis, Merlin had argued, the entirety of Westminster should be on the dinner menu.

Arthur's breakfast was surprisingly good. He added salt to his scrambled eggs, which was something I'd heard would toughen them. The eggs he presented me however, were perfect and not at all slimy or slobbery. I gobbled them up.

"I'm glad you're eating fast." Arthur admitted, with a grin.

I looked up in confusion.

"There's somewhere I want to take you today." Arthur continued. "By the way, did you bring a swimsuit with you?"

oOo

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope."

"Are you sure the water is clean?"

"Positive. It's fresh and clean."

I looked from the heir to the throne over to the swimming hole that we had hiked to. It was beautiful, I couldn't deny that. A large and deep natural swimming hole stretched out in front of us, fed by a small but powerful waterfall. The ground around the swimming hole was steep, arching downwards to the edge of the water, forming a path that was so covered in algae that I was certain I would crack my head open if I tried to walk on it. The part we stood on was flat, with a ledge that jutted over the water. It was a remote enough place that Arthur's security hadn't accompanied us, and so it was Arthur himself who had carried our towels and lunch in a rucksack that was slung over his shoulder. I grinned at him as the rucksack slid to the forest floor.

Gesturing at the swimming hole, I spoke in the most innocent voice I could muster. "After you, Your Royal Highness."

Arthur smirked at me and went to remove his shirt. Despite the somewhat chilly day, he had opted to wear his swim trunks for the two-mile hike. I wondered if challenging him to go first was a mistake, because when his shirt came off I was momentarily star-struck by a flurry of biceps, abs and well-defined pectoral muscles. Sense returned to me when Arthur looked at me and grinned. Backing up slightly, he took a running leap at the steep edge of the pool, disappearing off the ledge. A moment later, I heard a splash from far down below.

I gasped. "Are you insane?" I called, rushing to the rocky edge. Arthur's blond head popped up from under the water, and he flicked his hair back and away from his eyes. Lifting one arm, he waved for me to join him.

I stepped away from the ledge, grateful for the moment of privacy I had to undress. Freya had convinced me to bring a black bikini, and I still wasn't convinced it was the right choice. I was slim enough, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete. Regardless, I wasn't too worried about if I suited a two-piece swimsuit or not, and more concerned about the fact that I was about to strip down to what was really the equivalent of underwear in front of the Prince of Wales. I folded my clothes carefully, wondering if I should walk back in a soaking shirt just so I could retain some modesty.

"Are you coming?" Arthur called, and I looked over my shoulder.

"Yeah!" I replied. "Just a minute!"

It was really now or never. I looked around, mildly wondering if there was a member of the paparazzi hiding in the woods. It struck me as a little paranoid, but Princess Henriette had been caught sunbathing topless in a villa that was really rather secluded. But I wasn't topless now, and I wasn't The Princess Henriette. Photos of Arthur might sell like crazy, but photos of me were relatively worthless. I stepped back, poising myself to take a running leap just as Arthur had.

"Lookout below!"

The run was exhilarating, and so was the fall. I cannon-balled into the water, which must have been at least nine feet deep. It was also freezing. I shot up for air, shivering, gasping and sputtering. Strong, warm arms wrap around me, holding me steady while I adjust to the frigid temperature. I look up at Arthur accusingly.

"You never said how cold it is!"

"You never asked!"

"It's freezing."

"You get used to it." Satisfied that the shock of the cold had left me, and that I would not sputter and splash and drown, Arthur let me go. My body instantly mourned the warmth his body had provided. He dove under the water and appeared some feet from me a few moments later. "C'mon." He said, tilting his head towards the waterfall. "I want to show you something."

"Let me get used to the water."

"You're Canadian, cold is your speciality. Aren't you used to it by now?" I scowled, and a moment later, Arthur had a face full of water. "Hey!" He grinned, and sent water splashing back at me. I deftly ducked under the water, avoiding the sprinkling droplets as they landed around me.

At last, Arthur held up his hands to indicate a surrender. "Can I show you now?"

I'd almost forgotten about his earlier request. I nodded. "Sure."

We swam across the swimming hole. Although the water was still ridiculously cold, I found myself getting used to it. If I couldn't get used to it, at least it was warm enough that I could ignore it. We approached the waterfall, and Arthur reached for my hand. "Through here."

The water splattered hard against my head as I passed under the waterfall. It reminded me of a man-made waterfall at a splash park my brother and I had gone to. We had often dared each other to sit under it, wondering who could stand it longer.

"Oh wow."

Behind the waterfall was a small ledge, big enough for the two of us to stretch out on if we'd wanted to. It was dark, and slimy, and the only light at the opening of the small alcove came from the waterfall we had just passed through. Arthur hoisted himself from the water up onto the ledge, I followed suit, crawling over to sit next to him. For a moment, Arthur stared at the waterfall, and the only sounds were those of rushing water and woodland animals.

"This is one of the few places I ever really feel alone." Arthur admitted, and looked over at me. "I've not brought anyone here before."

I chuckled. "Is that what you say to all the girls?"

Arthur twisted his body so that he was looking directly into my eyes. "No." He breathed. "When I was young, and here with my brother Edward and our nanny, Edward fell and hurt his head. He was fine, but it worried my Mother and Father enough that from then on, they always had security come with us. When I realised there was a space behind here—a space where I couldn't be seen, and I couldn't see them—it changed things for me. I liked the aloneness."

"Why?"

He smiled sadly. "I am never alone, Guinevere. Seven hours after I was born, my Mother and Father stood with me on the steps of the hospital in front of the world. I can be alone in my apartments, but there is always security nearby, standing outside the entrance. When I was younger, my Father insisted on having cameras in the main rooms of my quarters. Here… here I don't have to be anybody." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "People ask me what it's like to be a prince, and I never really know what to say because I've never not been a prince. But I do know what it's like to suddenly realise you're King. I watched it happen the week my grandfather died. My mother went on doing what she always does: looking on the bright side, being charming and playing by every rule. But… my father froze. Maybe it's because his popularity has always been questionable, but… maybe it was because for the first time in his life he felt alone. He was the only King in the country. He didn't know how to handle it." Arthur shrugged. "I'm probably over dramatizing it, but I don't want to be shocked like that. I want to know what it's like to be so separated from people—even if it's limited." He flushed in the dim light. "Also, it's nice to be alone sometimes."

"Why did you bring me here, then?"

"You don't feel like people." He said, I shivered, and he inched closer to me, rubbing his arm against mine. I leaned into his warmth. "I mean—of course you're a person. And you're probably going to think I'm crazy for saying this, but I feel calmer around you than I've ever felt around anybody. I feel that—that when you look at me, it's me you're seeing." He frowned, his explanation had obviously missed its intended mark. "What I'm trying to say, Guinevere, is that there's something about you, that there's an—"

I didn't let him finish. Instead, I kissed him.

The rest of his words were lost against my mouth, and after a moment of surprise, he relaxed and leaned into my kiss. His face had the slightest bit of stubble that rubbed against my skin, but I didn't care and reached up my arms to encircle his neck. For a moment our lips parted and then touched again, sending a delicious shiver across my entire body. He pushed me down gently on the hard rock, and I reached up to kiss him again. The kisses are soft, and surprisingly warm. He stops kissing my mouth, and moves to the very edge of my jaw, and kisses it, before kissing his way back to the very corner of my mouth. Then he leans back on an elbow and smiles at me. For a long moment we look at each other, the intensity of our gazes wiping out everything but the other person. For a moment, I can't even hear the waterfall or the birds calling to each other beyond it.

"There's something about you, Guinevere." Arthur says at last, reaching to run his fingers along the edge of my jaw. "Every time I look at you, I catch my breath."

I respond by kissing him again.