Author's note:

I told you that I haven't abandoned this story!

Nevertheless, I do apologise for the LONG delay in updating. I haven't truly had much motivation to write, and when I have it has been mostly to work on my own (non fan-fiction) pieces. However, for the next few weeks you can expect regular updates as I managed to fall and break my ankle in two places, and I'm stuck on bed rest until 17/04/2019- so I guess there's a silver lining everywhere, at least for fans of this story! :-)

While I hesitate to rate this chapter as M, I do advise viewer discretion as there is a short (but adult) scene towards the end of the chapter.

Enjoy!

- VioletRose136


Chapter Seven

I made my first official appearance with Arthur that autumn. At the time of the decision, I really had no idea what kind of media-storm it would brew, and I naively thought that it would be easy enough to retreat from the cameras when I wished. The kinder among you will call my assumption naïve, while others would be right in labelling me as downright stupid. Nevertheless, the decision was made one Saturday evening in November while Arthur and I were again at Balmoral for the weekend, basking happily in the aloneness and the warmth of the castle against the chilly Scottish weather.

The fire was crackling, and I sat curled up in an armchair reading Outlander. I was immersed in eighteenth century Scotland, worrying with Claire as she navigated the ins and outs of a castle that—I liked to pretend—was much like the one I found myself in (when I had originally voiced my thoughts to Arthur he had snorted, and explained that Balmoral as it currently stood had been constructed during the 1850s, over a hundred years following the main character's Scottish adventures). I dog-eared my page when Arthur came in, carrying a tray of tea with an array of biscuits on a plate. I sat up as he placed the tray in front of me.

He smiled at me—rather tentatively, I noticed—and sat down beside me. The teapot he had provided me with was chipped along the base and had a paint job that had certainly seen better days. Arthur picked it up and grimaced. "Ghastly old thing." He said. "You'd think my Father would be able to afford better." The humour in his voice was obvious as he reached over to pour sweet-smelling tea into one of the two empty teacups. "This is sort of my own special brew." He explained, lifting the teapot up and away from me. "Two scoops of Earl Grey tea and one scoop of orange Christmas tea from Whittard."

"Christmas isn't for another month yet." I objected, leaning forward and pouring milk into the newly-filled mug.

Arthur didn't reply and watched me doctor my tea. After a beat, I realised he wasn't touching his tea at all. I sat back and looked at him. "What's wrong?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "I had a call from the Queen."

I frowned. A call from Queen Igraine was never good news. "And?"

"It seems that she absolutely refuses to have my sister The Princess Morgana—or rather, the Lady Morgana Devereux—at her fiftieth birthday party a week from tonight. Which means that palace aides, and my aides are going mental because I was supposed to be accompanied by her. Now they're hoping that my cousin Louisa is able to return home to accompany me… it's an enormous mess." He said, leaning back into the couch, his face alarmingly pained for something that seemed to fickle.

"What if I were to accompany you?" The words were out before I could stop them. Whether they were borne from a romantic whim, or the result of seeing the man I loved so pained about something so small, I could not say. Nonetheless, they were out, and I could have sworn that as soon as I spoke, even the birds outside stopped singing.

For a moment, Arthur stared at me. "Accompany me? To a royal party? Gwen, this is one of the fanciest occasions' royals have—beyond a ball, wedding or coronation. And there will be cameras, everywhere. Your attire alone would cost a bombshell, of course I would be happy to cover that, but—darling, it is a huge undertaking. And will raise questions about our relationship."

I shrugged. "It was going to come out sooner or later. Your Press Secretary is coming up with more and more stories about you having a possible girlfriend. Don't you want to do this in a way where you completely control it all?"

Arthur sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "You will be sacrificing a great deal, Guinevere."

"Oh hush." I said irritably. I was nothing if not stubborn, and once the offer was made, I was going to stand by it. "Plenty of people have been photographed with you before and forgotten. I see no reason why I should be unable to do the exact same thing."

I don't know what possessed me to say it. Perhaps I really was naïve enough to think that appearing next to the future King of England at a banquet would be of no real consequence or notice in the media. Maybe I was angry at the reactions of his family when I had met them and wished to prove that I was every bit as capable as they were of being a royal lady. Sometime later during our engagement, and following my miscarriage, a biography of me was released that described the decision in the following way.

"Guinevere, sure of her prince and of her future as Queen, was keen to enter royal life as quickly as possible. Thus, it was only a few short months into their relationship that the future Princess of Wales entered the public eye, sweeping onto the royal stage with the force of a tsunami."

I can safely say that at the time I spoke, I was aware of none of this. I simply did not see myself as someone who had the makings of royalty. I might want to make a point to the Royal Family, but that was oceans and leagues away from joining their ranks for the remainder of my mortal life. Did I see my relationship with Arthur going nowhere? Not exactly. I simply did not see beyond the present, and in that moment, beyond my petty, one-dimensional hopes and desires.

We spoke for awhile after that, and Arthur tried hard to impress upon me the severity of the decision I was about to make. But I could not be swayed, and slowly Arthur began to let himself grow excited at the thought of my joining him. We stayed up late into the night, discussing what might need to be done and what I would have to learn and master in the week ahead.

"My gown can't have a political statement of any kind attached to it." I decided staring at my iPad and swiping through a designer's website. "At least I know that much."

"I wonder if Priscilla is free this week, she is the best person to teach you royal ways and customs. She taught my mother when she joined the family, I believe." Arthur didn't bother adding that his mother, as a woman of Scottish noble birth, had already possessed the delicate mannerisms of the upper classes. For the first time, I felt a pinch of nerves deep in my stomach.

"Perhaps you can send me to Duchess School." I volunteered, pulling up an article I had read years before. "It's at the Plaza in New York. You could send me there and have me back in time for Friday."

Arthur looked at me over the lid of his computer, where he was also furiously typing e-mails in an attempt to prepare me for the coming weekend. "Or I could have a royal pro do it for you, and have it cost far less."

I grinned. "You cheapskate."

oOo

"My husband Rupert is the second-cousin once removed of His Royal Highness." Priscilla explained, nodding towards a portrait of Arthur that hung on the rear wall of the parlour. "Thus, he is also the second-cousin of His Majesty, and a great-great-great grandson of Queen Victoria herself. Thus, I assure you, no one is more qualified than me to be here teaching you."

Deciding that I would not mention that I had not brought into question Lady Priscilla Merrwood's tutoring ability or lineage, and delicately placed my teacup back onto its saucer. "That is most fascinating." I said, carefully lifting my hands away from the cup. I leaned to the side, not so far that I looked like the leaning tower of Pisa, but far enough that the footman who stepped forward immediately to refill my glass would have no danger of accidentally brushing me most improperly. If Priscilla noted my careful angling, she said nothing, even though she had spent the last afternoon drilling into me the proper way to lean.

It was Saturday morning, and we were mere hours away from the banquet that the King was throwing to celebrate Queen Igraine's fiftieth birthday. From Sunday evening, and stretching to every evening this week, Arthur's distant cousin had been teaching me the ways of royal behaviour and etiquette. And while I sometimes questioned her attitude and teaching methods, I had to admit that few would have had the stamina and enthusiasm that Lady Priscilla did. If it hadn't been for her royal connections, and aristocratic grace, I would have been quick to call her a royal enthusiast—the sort who has life-size cardboard cut-outs of members of the Royal Family in their living room, and who collects the royal mugs and plates that are issued at every big royal event like a coronation, wedding or birth. As it was, the Merrwood's London residence had portraits of members of the royal family in every room. A portrait of Arthur looking stern but always handsome had been watching me sip my tea for the last hour.

Upon our first meeting, I had been directed to refer to Priscilla Merrwood only as Lady Merrwood, which she openly explained was the result of me occupying a status that was far below hers. This, she explained with no air of snobbery and only a sense of basic practicality, was something that I would have to grow accompanied to if I were going to spend a prolonged period of time in the presence of the Royal Family. However, Arthur and every other member of the royal court that I had encountered referred to her as Lady Priscilla. I adopted this nickname behind closed doors but tried my upmost to meet her expectations of formality and propriety. She was a stern teacher, but gracious and kind.

These latter two traits were ones I was increasingly grateful for as the week wore on. For quite quickly it became very apparent that I knew very little about the finer points of manners of etiquette. There were conversational rules, walking rules, and even clinking rules. Where I had thought that clinking glasses following a toast was an acceptable and even proper norm, Lady Priscilla had explained to me that it was considered an informal action, only to be undertaken when standing in very informal situations such as intimate dinner parties. Likewise, if I liked someone's gown, I would be unable to ask where they had gotten it, as this was apparently a prying question regarding the state of their finances and economic health. Don't clink, polite topics, you are finished eating when the King is finished, four bites of food and then a break—the rules repeated themselves in my head, like a record on repeat.

"Shall we return to our education?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you."

Together we rose, but instead of returning to the drawing room Lady Priscilla led me through the house and outside to their impressive drive. Here they kept a number of cars, all very apparently old and very apparently expensive. She led me to the nearest one where her chuffer stood with the door open.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Of course not, dear." Lady Priscilla said, but offered no other explanation. As we approached the car the chuffer opened the door, smiling politely. "Thank you, Charles." She turned to look at me. "When you arrive at the banquet you will be in a car, as I am sure you already know. What you may not realise however, is that there is certain etiquette in getting in and out of a car. You keep your knees firmly together, and you swing your legs out of the car in one swoop. While you are wearing a floor length dress tonight, you will not always be and it is important that you do not give photographers even the littlest chance to see your undergarments… this is, assuming you wear undergarments. So many young ladies these days don't, it seems."

"I can assure you, I do wear… undergarments." The old-fashioned word tasted strange on my tongue, but I barely noticed it in my haste to account for my dignity.

"Well then, pretend that Charles here is a photographer who is ever so eager to obtain a photograph of them." Lady Priscilla did not seem to notice her chuffer blushing at the thought. After a pause, she looked at me and nodded eagerly. "Well, get into the car! Start practicing!"

I simply did as I was told.

oOo

King Uther stared at his son, his mouth agape. "You're bringing her? The teacher?"

Arthur bit his lip. It was a few hours before the banquet was due to start, and he was beginning to think that waiting so long to inform his father of exactly who he had found to accompany him had not been a very bright idea. "Yes, Miss. Fairchild. I am sure she will do brilliantly, as she has been training with Priscilla all week."

The King cast his son a wary glance. Mention of his cousin always irked him, as he knew she did not approve of his divorce, or divorce at all. "Lady Priscilla is not in attendance." He said flatly.

"I know that, Mother would never stand for it." Something dark was turning itself over in Arthur's stomach, and he fought to maintain a calm expression. "But she is well-versed in the traditional etiquette and was the best person to tutor Gwe—Miss. Fairchild."

"I am not sure that Miss. Fairchild is an appropriate choice to escort." Uther held his hand up when he saw Arthur move to defend her. After pausing a moment, to make sure that Arthur would remain quiet, he continued. "Aside from the fact that it is entirely inappropriate that someone so common, with no accreditations or reason beyond your personal informal relationship would accompany you, I also don't feel that it is a wise decision to introduce her to the public at this point."

Arthur's lips pursed. Guinevere was a force to be reckoned with, and while he had tried to explain to her the impact that this would have in the media, she had remained firm on her decision to accompany him. He had not wanted to refuse her, but a voice in the back of his head nagged at him that perhaps the situation had been mishandled. For everything he could tell her, Arthur could not really explain what it was like to live in the limelight, and he could not fully commit to the sentiment that she was ready to experience it.

Uther took his son's silence as agreement. "And this is exactly why the young lady is not a suitable choice."

"That may well be, Father." Arthur said, his lip curling. "But as it is, the young lady has spent a great deal of time preparing for this evening. What is more, is that money has already been spent procuring her proper attire for this evening and since some of it is bespoke, I am afraid that I can do little to have the payments returned."

This was partially a bluff. The gown Guinevere was going to wear had been bought from a designer, but it was certainly not bespoke. And furthermore, although Arthur had happily offered to purchase the accompanying accessories, Gwen had insisted he only rent them. But he wasn't going to let his father know that, not now when he had strayed onto such thin ice. But Arthur felt victory quell inside of him as he saw his father's nostrils flare.

Uther closed his eyes, and let out a very, very long breath. "I suppose the fault is not with you." He conceded, his mouth turning into a deep frown. "Had your sister not been as petulant we would never have found ourselves in this position to begin with. However, I hope you understand that any mishap that comes out of this will be your responsibility to handle."

"I understand that, Father."

"And," Uther continued, before Arthur could escape with his victory. "If this evening does not go exactly to plan, and make no mistake of this, I will personally ensure that your relationship with Miss. Fairchild is made to end. I accept that as an eligible bachelor, you will entertain relationships with a number of women, as only is to be expected. However, I will not allow those relationships to embarrass me and our family."

Arthur was taken aback. "This isn't the eighteenth century, Father. You can't control my existence in such fickle ways." He had meant his voice to sound strong, but it had come out smaller than he had expected. He knew very well how far his father would go to control his life and force it into proper royal lines.

Uther gave his eldest son a look that conveyed exactly what he thought of that. "It is not the eighteenth century, but I am King, and I will not see this dynasty fall while I wear the crown."

Arthur was fairly sure that his father had done more to make their dynasty fall than he could ever hope to achieve in his lifetime, but he knew it was not wise to say as much. Instead, he bowed his head. "Am I dismissed?"

It was as petulant as he could afford to be.

Uther nodded. "Yes, go. I will see you later. And Arthur?" Arthur had half-turned to leave, but the tone in his father's voice made him pause. He turned, and when he met his father's steely grey eyes, the King spoke. "Do not forget what is riding on your shoulders, and do not forget what I will do to you if you do."

The threat was an old one, but it still struck chills into Arthur. As fond as Arthur was of his brother Edward, the fact that his mother's third child had also been a boy meant that Uther's wish to be succeeded by a son was not solely dependant on Arthur. It was not the first time Uther had threatened to strip Arthur of his royal title when he had not behaved as Uther thought he should, but it had been a very long time since Uther had alluded to that threat. In truth, Arthur was not entirely sure that Uther could strip him of his right to the throne; but when he thought of how ruthless his father could be, it was easy to think that he did not want to ever find out.

Arthur bowed his head, and then looked up, being sure to meet his father's eyes again. "Yes, Your Majesty, I understand."

oOo

Arthur had arrived back at Kensington Palace in a grumpy sort of mood and had refused to discuss how the conversation with his father had gone, beyond informing me that I was still permitted to join the event this evening. I had been unable to question him, as at that moment the hairdresser, stylist and makeup artist had arrived with Priscilla, and I was swept up and away to ready myself.

Although she was not invited, Priscilla was in a surprisingly good mood. She seemed to believe that her tutorage of me was going to result in a very successful evening, and that perhaps this would win her back some favour in the royal household. I did not have the heart to tell her that this hope was in vain, and the King was more likely to run through the houses of Parliament in a tangerine catsuit than he was to listen to my counsel, and only nodded politely at her chatter.

It seemed like a long time until the stylist, hairdresser and makeup artist made their exit. But when they did, I was glad to see that I had a few moments to compose myself before Arthur and I were due to leave for Buckingham Palace. Although I would not admit it to anyone, by then I was beginning to grasp the enormity of what I was undertaking. Potential media attention aside, this was my first official event where the entire Royal Family would be in attendance. Princess Henriette, and her brother Prince Edward would both be there, as well as Anna, Duchess of Montrose and her husband. The only two who would not be in attendance were Morgana and Morgause, who believed they had better things to do than humour their father on the occasion of their stepmother's birthday. To be honest, I could hardly blame them, and despite their rudeness towards me I felt a shade of sorry for them. It could not be easy to have your mother discarded, and your own importance diminished in the way that theirs had been.

I crossed from the bed over to the large floor-length mirror. Despite my worry, I couldn't help but admire how I looked. My hair was done up in a neat chignon, and my makeup was soft and natural, but something had been done to my eyes to make them look even deeper and wider than they usually did. I eyed the gown I wore and felt a surge of satisfaction. Choosing a gown had not been a simple process by any stretch of the imagination. Initially I had been drawn to a sleeveless satin draped gown and Arthur had been on the verge of purchasing it when Priscilla had reminded us of the proper royal dress code. The gown, she explained, was wrong in large part because it allowed one's shoulders to be exposed. It simply wouldn't do. This comment, along with the discovery of several other royal dress code rules that I had not formerly known about, had resulted in the enlistment of a stylist, and a lot of shopping.

Although the royal dress code was not always strictly enforced: royals were often seen bearing their shoulders or their knees, both Arthur and I had agreed that it was very important that my outfit tick all the boxes. We knew that his parents were sceptical of our relationship, and the revelation that I would be attending a royal event would not inspire a positive reaction. The responsibility was on me to outshine all of their expectations, and this began with my choice of attire.

The gown I had eventually selected was floor length and a deep burgundy, with capped sleeves with embellished shoulders. It was neither too plain, too matronly, too unexpected or too sexy. Arthur and Priscilla had both applauded my choice and looking at myself now I couldn't help but feel a little pleased. It did everything I had hoped my gown would do. It was a gown that made things happen, it was a gown—unknown to me at the time—that would change my fate.

oOo

Since it was a private palace party, as opposed to a state dinner, Arthur told me that the number of cameras around would be minimal.

"We only really allow the media inside the palace on state occasions," He explained, smoothing his hair for the umpteenth time that evening. "Last year when King Felipe and Queen Letizia were visiting… my goodness, that was a splendid evening. The chicken was a little dry, though."

The chicken was a little dry. While Arthur could at times be humble—so humble in fact, that I forgot that he was a royal, there were other times like this that left me feeling somewhat behind. Only someone who was expected to inherit a crown, who had grown up in palaces and as a member of the most famous royal family in the world would be able to sit at dinner next to Spanish royalty and come away complaining that their chicken had been somewhat dry.

I smirked at him. "How absolutely terrible for you."

"Oh, it wasn't terrible at all, Letizia was wonderful company indeed."

Letizia. My boyfriend called Her Majesty Queen Letizia, The Queen of Spain by her Christian name. A ball of nerves coiled inside of me and cooled, making me feel decidedly ill.

"Maybe this wasn't such a wonderful idea." I said tentatively. For a moment I was tempted to scratch wildly at the door, afraid of what may or may not come if I stayed in the car next to Arthur.

"Hey, hey." He grabbed my hand, and pulled it into his lap, clasping his other hand over mind. "You'll be okay. C'mon. It's all right."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "I know, I know." Ahead of us I could see the looming silhouette of Buckingham Palace. "Just don't let me fall."

There were hoards of photographers waiting at the gates of Buckingham Palace, and for a moment I was blinded by the flashes. But the driver, clearly experienced at driving throughout this bedazzling light storm, kept moving forward, and then we were through the gates and away from the photographers. We drove up to the main entrance, the doors were open, and I accepted the footman's hand as I gracefully stepped out of the car and onto the gravel and rounded the car to take Arthur's waiting arm. As soon as we were clear of the drive, our car swept away and up the drive and another took its place.

"Likely my brother Edward," Arthur murmured in my ear as we entered the palace. There were hoards of people, all of whom stopped and nodded to Arthur as we passed through the grand entryway and through to the grand staircase. They eyed me curiously, but I avoided their questioning gazes, and continued forward. Arthur guided me up the staircase, and through to the ballroom, where the function was taking place.

"There are a lot of stairs here." I muttered, slightly embarrassed to be out of breath.

Arthur chuckled. "Come on, let's get something to drink. I see my parents over there, and it won't be long until my Father makes a beeline for you."

I gulped and followed Arthur's gaze to where King Uther and his wife stood holding glasses of their own. Uther was animated, laughing at something his companion had said, while Queen Igraine stood stolidly beside him. She looked beautiful, of course. Her gown was a faint blue with a sweeping skirt, with ruched sleeves and delicate beading. Her hair was swept back, and she wore a simple retro-modern tiara that glittered against her platinum locks. It was not a very romantic tiara, but certainly suited the gown.

"I feel slightly underdressed." I quipped to Arthur as we made our way through the throng of people. "Should I have worn a tiara?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" He said, his eyes wide and his tone coloured with mock horror. "Only married members of the royal family wear tiaras to events!"

"Not true," A voice from behind us said, "I've worn one several times. That being said, I must say that I think Mother is a tad overdressed. I mean really, a tiara to a private event?"

Arthur's face broke into a wide smile, and we turned to find a young woman standing behind us, wearing a figure-hugging salmon-pink lace gown. Her hair, a light brown, was left loose and hung down in elegantly crafted waves. Around her neck she wore a gorgeous ruby and diamond drop necklace, which ended just inches above the lowest point of the daring V-neck.

I wondered if Arthur's face would split at the sides as he grinned. "Henriette," He said, his voice full of warmth and he leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks in the way that the upper-classes favoured. The princess made a quick bob and rose with an answering smile for her brother.

"It is wonderful to see you, Arthur." She said, "I hope you are well?"

"Very, thank you." There was a pause, and then Arthur motioned to me. "My apologies. Henriette, may I present Miss. Guinevere Fairchild. Guinevere, may I present my sister, Her Royal Highness The Princess Henriette."

Princess Henriette offered me her hand, I took it and bobbed quickly, Lady Priscilla's voice sounded loud in my ears. "Princess Henriette is the daughter of the sovereign and his wife, and therefore curtseys only to her parents and to her brother Prince Arthur—the heir to the throne—and her brother Prince Edward as he is above her in the line of succession and of the same parentage. She does not curtsey to Lady Morgana or Lady Morgause, unless the King is also in the room." The presence of a male relative, Lady Priscilla had explained, validated the status of his two older daughters as ahead of Princess Henriette in the line of succession. If he were not present, her status as the daughter of the present Queen made her, in that instance, more royal. The rules, Lady Priscilla had added, would become even more complicated for me if and when I married Arthur, but now it was safe to assume that I should curtsey to everyone, always and all the time.

"It is lovely to meet you." Princess Henriette said with a smile, "I'm afraid Arthur hasn't been able to stop talking about you."

Arthur coloured, but I smiled. "And you, Your Royal Highness." I was going to add that she looked splendid that evening but remembered at the last moment that it wasn't appropriate to comment on someone's appearance, even with a compliment. Doing so referenced money, and referencing money was a huge nonstarter. I felt triumphant. Lady Priscilla would be proud indeed!

She waved a hand, "Please, call me Hettie." Arthur glowered at her, and she chuckled. "All right, Henriette. Arthur does so hate my preferred nickname." She leaned closer to me. "But I'm never going to be Sovereign, so what's the problem?"

Her eyes were alight with humour, and I knew that I liked her immiedately. "Thank you, but I must invite you to call me Guinevere—Gwen, really."

Someone called Arthur from across the room. He lifted a gloved hand in greeting and nodded to his sister and then to me. "Ladies, I must absent myself as my attention is required elsewhere. Guinevere darling, do not let Henriette over-indulge on gin-martinis."

He was gone before I had a chance to reply, and Henriette linked her arm through mine and steered me towards the bar that had been erected on the far side of the room.

"Now darling," She said, as people parted to let the King's daughter through. "You must tell me, how are you finding it? Have you met my sisters? Ghastly, aren't they? That being said, I can't believe Mother wouldn't let them be here. Father put his foot down though, and of course Anna is here." She nodded at a woman with dark hair who stood with her back to us. Henriette lowered her voice. "In my opinion, Father should win her back. She's has far more dignity and taste than Mother could ever hope to have."

"I have yet to meet the duchess." I admitted, grateful for the obvious escape of making any negative comments. Was this some sort of test?

"Oh, Anna is lovely. She's wearing Jenny Packham tonight, I think that only she could pull off that kind of turquoise." Henriette sighed, and turned to the bartender. "A dirty gin martini, with Watenshi, please. And my lovely friend Guinevere will be having…?"

I asked for a French white wine that Arthur had recommended to me on a number of occasions. Drinks in hand, Anna and I made our way through the throng of people to perch at a table that had been set up with refreshments. Henriette moved with a grace and poise that I swore could only be obtained by someone with truly regal blood, someone who was a true descendant of the Conqueror. Her waist was tiny, and the dress she wore did little to hide that, clinging to her frame as she moved and sat.

She sat for a thoughtful pause, her left hand idly tapping the stem of her glass. On her ring finger glittered the engagement ring of dreams—an ornate affair, with a pink diamond that I noted matched her gown quite nicely.

"Is your fiancé here tonight?" I asked, looking around and wondering if I had failed to spot the Duke of Exeter.

"Hmm?" Henriette looked like she had been far away and shook herself back to reality. "Oh, no… no… Jacob isn't here tonight. Such a disappointment for Father really, they are quite friends."

I nodded. "Are you excited for the wedding?"

"I suppose." She sipped her martini. "The Luddington's do have such a lovely family tiara. A piece from the 1900s, the Edwardians did have such lovely taste in jewellery."

"And the wedding is due to occur in June?" I prompted, when it seemed that she would say little more on the subject.

"Yes, in Windsor."

I frowned. "How did you meet His Grace?"

"Through Father, of course. He and Jacob's older brother have been such pals since university that it would seem unfair if Father did not offer the family some kind of royal connection." She rolled her eyes and took a deeper sip.

"Are you not excited?" I ventured, a little appalled at my own forwardness.

"Of course, I'm excited. It will be a lavish affair, and Jacob is due to be made His Royal Highness The Earl of Shrewsbury and Baron Lisle. Upon marriage my title will be quite grand indeed, Her Royal Highness Princess Henriette, Duchess of Exeter, Countess of Shrewsbury and Lady Lisle. Don't you adore it?"

"It is quite grand," I admitted, disappointed but not surprised that I had not gotten more out of the princess. "May I ask about the gown?"

Her eyes sparkled. "You certainly may not!" She replied but leaned closer to me. "I can tell you a little; it is due to have a cathedral train and great bell sleeves, and a square neckline. It's all lace and… oh, Gwen it is a marvellous thing. I designed most of it myself, not that I'll be allowed to take the credit, of course. It's all for British designers, and that sort of thing."

I nodded. "It does sound lovely."

I tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a wedding on live TV, to have a gown that was so secret that people would have to work in the dead of night to avoid the cameras. I wondered what sort of gown I would come up with.

A sever approached us with a plate of small appetizers. "Your Royal Highness, ma'am, may I be able to interest you in a bite?" His words were laced with an accent, Russian, I decided.

Henriette's face lit up and she smiled at the server. "I'm afraid we still have quite a large dinner ahead of us, it would be impolite to start gorging now."

He shrugged. "If I may be so bold Ma'am, I do believe the protocol is to stop eating when the Monarch does—surely you want to plan ahead to ward off hunger. I hear His Majesty is quite a fast eater when he wants to be."

Henriette's face softened, and she laughed. "I suppose you're right." She took a small treat from the tray he offered her. "Are the kitchens okay tonight?" She asked, nibbling at her treat.

He sighed and shrugged. A lock of dark brown hair fell into his eyes. "They're as okay as they can be with an event like this." He smiled at me. "Honestly ma'am, with the number of functions we do, you'd think we would be able to run like clockwork."

I smiled, and Henriette jumped in immediately. "Oh, I am terribly rude. Gwen, this is Dimitri. Dimitri, this is Gwen. Gwen, Dimitri works at the palace, and Gwen is my brother's guest."

"Nice to meet you." I said, glad to find that the royals seemed to be friendly with someone else who was not an aristocrat.

"And you, ma'am." He smiled and offered me the plate. "Canape?"

oOo

I switched to water after the first drink and managed to escape Henriette's later offer of another drink by grabbing onto Arthur's arm as he went past and being swept into the crowd of people. Fortunately, Their Majesties were only able to give me a moment of their time, as their attention was in great demand from all of the guests. King Uther swept his gaze over me, scrutinizing me. Queen Igraine fixed me with a look that I would have called approving if I believed that the Queen was in fact able to approve of someone who was not royal.

At dinner I was sat between Arthur and Henriette, who had been accompanied by her younger brother Edward. At nineteen, His Royal Highness The Prince Edward was the youngest of the royal brood and made me feel quite elderly. His face had not yet lost the softness of childhood, and he spoke and ate with an energy that could only be found in such a young man.

I did not fail to notice that Henriette drank heavily, and began to flirt heavily, if not ostentatiously, with Dimitri the sever. I could not tell if he was embarrassed by her behaviour but tried to send him a few sympathetic glances as we made our way through the courses. After dinner we excused ourselves back to the ballroom for dancing and drinking. Arthur danced with me for a few dances, but the heir to the throne and the most eligible bachelor in England could not be retained for long. He was swept away from me moments after the second dance ended, and I was left to look for someone who looked vaguely familiar.

The heat of the ballroom was rather stifling, and I found myself wandering out into the corridor, hoping to find somewhere quiet where I could rest for a moment. Maybe I could even take my phone from my purse and text Freya and tell her everything that had happened. I smirked when I thought of what she would make of Princess Henriette and her friendly, but privileged demeanour. My heels were hurting too. A place to sit down would be welcome as well, I decided.

I had wandered for a little while, and the music from downstairs had faded a little, when I noticed that the door to a room was slightly ajar. As I drew closer, I was glad to find that the light inside was on so that I would not have to hunt for it. I opened the door slowly—goodness knew that the last thing I needed was to accidentally destroy an ornate door at Buckingham Palace—and was met with quite an unexpected sight that made me freeze, and quite forget all about my desire to find a place to rest.

The floor was littered with a garter and stockings, and heels that had been haphazardly thrown off. Princess Henriette was bent over a baroque arm chair and was biting the back of it with such force that one would have thought she either wanted to break all her teeth or she had not eaten for days. If that were not enough, her fingernails scratched and dug into the arms of the chair. Kneeling over her and moving with such force that it was a miracle the princess kept her balance, was Dimitri. Henriette stopped biting the back of the chair, and moved her head so that it was down, pressing against her wrist as it was braced against the back of the chair. A soft groan left her mouth, and Dimitri let out an answering growl.

"I love you," She whimpered, "I love you, I love—"

Dimitri paused, roughly grabbing her neck and forcing her to look back at him. "Tell me that again," He purred. "Look at me and tell me you love me. Tell me you're mine."

"I love you," She whimpered, need evident in her tone and her gaze fixed on him. "I love you, I'm yours. I'll always be yours."

He leaned forward and kissed her with tenderness. "And I love you. I will always be yours."

She moved her head away from his, shifting to resume her position against the chair. They saw me at the same time, freezing for an instant before breaking apart with haste. Henriette's skirts fell to the floor as Dimitri jumped away from her, swinging himself away from me and righting his trousers.

"Guinevere!" She spat, "How long have you been there?!"

"A moment, I— I was looking for somewhere to rest!"

Dimitri bowed his head. "Your Royal Highness."

"Oh, don't speak to me like that." She spat at him. She turned to me, her gaze equal measures of angry and pleading. Being a clever woman, Henriette opted not to go on the offensive. "Oh Guinevere, you won't say anything to Arthur, will you? Not to Father?"

"I—" I could not imagine keeping a secret like this from Arthur. I felt myself nodding numbly and my lips moved like there was somebody else controlling them. "I won't say anything. I… I should go."

I turned, and hurried from the room, wondering if one of them would try and follow me. When neither did, I slowed my walk, and tried to compose myself by the time I walked back into the ballroom. My head was spinning. I had never before walked in on someone experiencing such an intimate moment, and I certainly wouldn't have expected to find a Princess of the United Kingdom in such a position. But as much as I wished to run to the nearest kitchen and gauge my eyes out with a fork, I had other things to consider.

I love you, they had said. How long had this been going on? Did King Uther have any inkling of his daughter's feelings for a commoner? Surely the King would not approve of his daughter having a relationship with a server; and a Russian server at that. But Henriette was engaged to be married to someone else. Someone who has been chosen for her, a small voice offered at the back of my mind. You heard what she said. It may be the twenty-first century, but that clearly hasn't stopped King Uther from passing the one daughter under his control out like some sort of prize.

The injustice of what King Uther was forcing his daughter to do crashed down upon me, and I resolved immediately to keep what I had seen to myself, at least for now. Perhaps there would be a way to tell Arthur, a way to assure him that his sister didn't want to marry the Duke of Exeter. She may be seen as a prize to be won, but it was still the twenty-first century. No one could force the princess to marry the duke. But then… what would she be giving up if she refused? Would she be stripped of her title? Her wealth? How would she survive, and where would she turn to? Was it worth sacrificing her right to the throne, and her place in a family simply for love?

What would Arthur do, I wondered, if caught in the same position? What if King Uther presented Arthur with a pretty heiress and an ultimatum? Would Arthur choose me, I wondered, or would he choose his throne? The King's children required the sovereign's permission to marry, otherwise the marriage would truly be considered invalid. Henriette was well and truly walled in by the establishment that had raised her. So is Arthur, the same voice piped up, And do you really want to stick around to see what happens with that?