Private The Covenant of Rose and Thorn

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

For two weeks, Camelot had existed in a state of controlled chaos. Servants scrubbed marble floors until they gleamed beneath the Naboo sun. Gardens that had always been beautiful were somehow made even more immaculate, every hedge trimmed with mathematical precision and every flower bed bursting with carefully selected colors. Fresh banners bearing the crest of House Cavello fluttered from balconies overlooking the lake, while musicians practiced endlessly in distant courtyards in preparation for the evening's festivities. Every path held lanterns, every table fresh flowers, and every window silk curtains.

Nothing less would suffice. Lord Atria was coming. The King and Queen of Avenar had exchanged only the briefest of words with him during the funeral of his brother. Grief and ceremony had left little room for proper introductions, and in the months since, circumstance had continually denied them another opportunity. Today would finally correct that.

Today, Lord Atria would formally meet King Leode Cavello, Queen Consort Elain, and Prince Artour. Today, he would become part of one of Avenar's oldest traditions.

The Bundling.

The custom stretched back centuries, predating dynasties and wars alike. A princess and her future husband were granted a single evening together before marriage, not as lovers, but as companions. The purpose was simple enough: encourage emotional intimacy while preserving physical virtue.

The bed chamber prepared for them reflected that philosophy perfectly. At its center sat a magnificent bed large enough for royalty, divided cleanly down the middle by an ornate bundling board carved from polished wood. It ensured complete separation while still granting the pair something Gwen had never truly experienced before.

Privacy.

Privacy with a man.

The thought alone was enough to make her stomach twist. Guinevere stood before the mirror in her chambers, fingers nervously twisting together as attendants made final adjustments to her gown. She felt ridiculous. The entire evening felt ridiculous. Lord Atria wasn't going to marry her. Her parents just did not know that yet.

The truth sat heavy in her chest no matter how desperately she tried to ignore it. She had been the one to ask him to participate in this absurd charade, knowing full well he opposed the union. Knowing full well that if circumstances allowed, he would likely be anywhere else in the galaxy.

Yet he had come, which somehow made everything worse. She worried she was inconveniencing him. She worried her parents would notice the strange distance between them and begin asking questions neither of them could comfortably answer. She worried about what would happen if they spent an entire evening pretending to be something they were not.

Most of all, she worried about the night itself.

The tradition had always seemed romantic when she'd imagined it as a child. One day her future husband would arrive. He would admire her. She would admire him. They would talk beneath candlelight and wake the next morning feeling closer than before.

Simple.

Beautiful.

Proper.

But nothing about this situation felt proper. Lancel wasn't her future husband, not really. The thought of sharing a room with him, of speaking with him long after the rest of the estate had gone to sleep, at even seeing him in evening wear felt strangely forbidden. Like she was crossing some invisible line she couldn't quite define. As though every hour spent alone with him threatened some future marriage that might never even come to pass.

Yet beneath all the fear and guilt and confusion was something else.

Excitement.

A shameful, fluttering excitement she couldn't seem to silence. For one night, she would be allowed to know him, not as a title, or a political obligation, or some chess piece in her parents' world.

Just... him. The realization sent another wave of nervousness crashing through her. She shouldn't want to know a man who wasn't her husband, and the guilt was gnawing at her almost as heavily as the nerves were. She twisted her hands in front of the mirror, and winced as her chaperone Taza slapped her hands with a ruler to remind her to stop fidgeting, which was not considered ladylike.

Outside her window, the first transports could already be seen approaching across the brilliant Naboo sky.

Lord Atria was almost here.

And Gwen had never felt more overwhelmed in her life.

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel had reviewed the list six times. It had not improved.

The ornate speeder drifted silently above the waters of Naboo as Camelot's white spires rose in the distance. Sunlight flashed across polished chrome and dark glass, presenting exactly the image expected of House Atria...elegant refinement and expensive without being ostentatious.

Inside, Lancel sat alone with a datapad balanced against one knee.

Lady Seraphine Valcor had been immediately eliminated after background checks revealed her father had somehow managed to start a blood feud over imported wine.

Lord Cassian Voss had looked promising until he renounced aristocratic life to become a wandering poet. A wandering poet. Lancel rubbed at his temple. Who actually did that?

The next file proved little better. Lady Aurelia Dorne was currently attempting to convince her family to approve a marriage to a racing pilot nearly twice her age. Another dead end.

The datapad lowered as he stared through the viewport.

At first, he and Gwen had approached this problem with optimism. Surely somewhere among Naboo's aristocracy existed suitable alternatives. Instead, every week uncovered fresh absurdities. One noble heir had vanished into Wild Space hunting ancient treasure. Another was locked in a legal dispute over ownership of a lake. A third had joined a monastery. A karking monastery.

"Please tell me you've had better luck than I have," he muttered. The thought was directed toward Gwen despite the impossibility of her hearing it.

The situation had become increasingly difficult to navigate. He had promised her that whatever happened, her reputation would remain untouched. She would be spared embarrassment. Be free of gossip. And there would be no suggestion that she had somehow failed. When the engagement ended, it would end honourably.

Unfortunately, every step toward that goal required him to become a more convincing future husband. He could not arrive at Camelot and behave poorly. That would reflect on House Atria, on his family, and on his brother's memory. So he would smile. He would charm her parents. He would play the role perfectly. And every success would make escaping the engagement slightly harder.

The speeder banked gently.

Camelot emerged fully into view, and for a moment even Lancel forgot his troubles. Gardens stretched across the lakeshore like living paintings, banners fluttered from marble terraces, and preparations for his arrival were visible everywhere.

They had done all of this for him. The realisation settled heavily.

The speeder descended. Minutes later, the hatch opened.

Lancel stepped onto the landing platform, dark formal attire falling in immaculate lines around him. The high collar framed sharp features inherited from generations of Atrias, while subtle embroidery caught the light only at certain angles. Dark hair fell across one side of his face, lending a hint of rebellion to an otherwise flawless presentation.

He was composed. He was confident. And he was entirely fabricating the show.

He descended the walkway and bowed first to King Leode, then to Queen Elain. Only then did he look to Gwen. For a moment, the ceremony seemed to disappear. The corner of his mouth threatened a faint smile.

Then he took her hand gently between both of his own, bowed, and pressed a respectful kiss against her knuckles. "My princess."

He hated how good he was at this.

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Gwen was quite certain she was going to faint. The moment she saw him step from the speeder, every carefully rehearsed greeting abandoned her entirely. Her heart lurched so violently she wondered if everyone else could hear it. She felt suddenly lightheaded, fingers curling tightly against the fabric of her gown as she fought to remember how breathing worked.

When he looked at her the world narrowed embarrassingly fast. She managed a smile. Somehow. A warm blush immediately flooded her cheeks as he crossed the platform toward them. He looked unfairly handsome. Elegant. Confident. Like every storybook prince she had ever secretly imagined as a little girl.

Only Gwen knew it was all an act. Or at least she thought she did. That realization somehow made everything worse.

When his lips brushed her knuckles, she nearly forgot every lesson in courtly decorum she'd spent her entire life memorizing.

"My lord," she replied softly, pleased that her voice only trembled a little. She offered him what she hoped looked like a graceful smile instead of the desperate effort it actually was. "It's wonderful to see you again."

Her mother seized the opening instantly.

"Oh, doesn't he look magnificent?" Queen Elain declared before either of them could say another word. She stepped forward, placing a possessive hand on Gwen's shoulder as though presenting a prized work of art. "Lord Atria, dear, we are so very pleased to welcome you to our home. We've prepared a fine dinner for you, and Guinevere will be more than happy to give you a tour of anything you wish to see."

Gwen's eyes closed briefly in horror. It was bad enough he had to sit through this, let alone having to listen to her mother go on and on. She tried to block it out by remembering the list of nobles she had looked up. She focused on every name, every let down, every escape hatch slammed shut before hope could truly live. Her mother's words blurred for a moment.

"And the gardens are absolutely beautiful this season," Elain continued relentlessly. "I was just telling everyone how lovely the engagement portraits will be beside the lakes. We've already had several artists submit proposals."

The king laughed quietly beside them.

"My love, let the poor man breathe."

Leode offered Lancel an apologetic smile before giving his daughter a knowing look. "Though I suspect he's already discovered that women of House Cavello don't surrender a conversation once they've started one."

That earned a laugh from the queen. Gwen smiled too, mostly because it kept anyone from noticing she was moments away from collapsing into the lake. The only conversation she'd had with Lord Atria had been the one where he told her he didn't want her. After that, they had faked their way through comm calls, or letters, but it was all a show and in no way the flowing happiness her mother was commanding now. It was as if her parents didn't know her at all and had no idea how Gwen would truly behave if she were ever in a room with someone who actually wanted to be in one with her.

The king stepped forward and clasped Lancel warmly on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Camelot, Lord Atria. Ignore my wife for at least the next five minutes and you'll survive the visit."

"Leode!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

Gwen covered another smile, grateful for the distraction. Her parents had met in an arranged marriage and somehow she'd never thought about that until this very moment. Why couldn't it be that easy?

When the conversation shifted around them, her eyes drifted back to Lancel. For a moment she simply looked at him. The man who was trying so hard to keep a promise to her that he didn't need to keep. The man who was pretending to be her future husband even though it pained him. She hated the burden she had put on him. Her fingers curled slightly, desperately wanting to fidget with her dress but afraid to do so under the watchful eyes of her mother.

"Lord Atria let's get you a drink.I daresay you must have questions or things you want to discuss?" The King turned, inviting Lancel into their home where servants were waiting to help with jackets, bags, or any other things nobles should not be encumbered with.

As the men started forward, Elain whispered out of the side of her mouth. "Guinivere, do not show all of your teeth when you smile. It's ghastly."

Gwen closed her eyes again and tried to breathe. Just focus on the list. Just focus on surviving this.

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

The warmth of Gwen's hand against his knuckles was a sharp, grounding contrast to the chilly breeze coming off the lake. Lancel didn't miss the slight tremor in her voice, nor the subtle tension tightening her posture as Queen Elain immediately took command of the arrival. To any onlooker, his lingering hold on Gwen's fingers looked like the hesitation of a man entirely captivated. In reality, it was a deliberate assurance meant to tell her that he was here to support them in their plan.

He smoothly straightened from his bow, offering Queen Elain a smile that was the very definition of courtly perfection. It was warm, disarming, and entirely manufactured.

"Your Majesty, the hospitality of House Cavello is rivalled only by the beauty of its estate," Lancel replied, his tone striking the perfect balance between reverence and easy charm. "I would be honoured by a tour of the gardens, though I fear the portraits will suffer purely because the artist will be too distracted trying to capture the Princess's likeness to notice the scenery."

It was a line straight out of a corny Naboo romance holomovie, delivered with such seamless sincerity that it felt entirely genuine. He caught the King's amused, knowing look and shifted his attention to Leode with a soft, respectful chuckle, perfectly playing along with the monarch's banter.

"I shall take your advice to heart, Your Majesty," Lancel said, accepting the King's warm clasp on his shoulder with an easy, military-trained deference. "Though I suspect surviving the wit of House Cavello's women is a challenge for which I should prepare myself."

As King Leode turned to guide them inside toward the grand entryway, inviting him in for a drink to discuss the details of the visit, Lancel raised a hand in a polite, graceful gesture of decline. He needed his wits entirely about him for the bundling. A single misstep or a dulled sense tonight could unravel his careful composure and lead to a mistake he couldn't afford. Navigating this evening with absolute propriety required a razor-sharp mind.

"You are most generous, Your Majesty, but I must respectfully decline the drink for now," Lancel murmured, his voice smooth and untroubled.

"The journey was quite long, and I prefer to keep a clear head so I might fully appreciate the evening's festivities and the company of your household without dulling my wits."

The King offered an understanding nod, gesturing for the waiting servants to take Lancel's traveling cloak instead. Lancel fell into step beside Leode, seemingly absorbed in the bustling movements of the household. Yet, as they crossed the threshold, he managed a tactical slowdown, just enough to let the King step slightly ahead, and just enough to catch the exact moment Gwen's mother hissed her sharp critique about her smile into her daughter's ear.

Lancel didn't look back at the Queen, but as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure Gwen was following, his sharp features softened. The immaculate, storybook prince mask slipped for a fraction of a second, replaced by the tired, dry comrade-in-arms who had spent his morning reading about wandering poets and monastery-bound nobles.

He didn't speak aloud, but his dark eyes locked onto hers with a look of profound, shared exhaustion. I've got you, the look seemed to say, before he smoothly turned back to answer a question from the King. Just keep smiling.

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Gwen kept smiling despite the ache in her heart. It was becoming a remarkable skill, really. The smile remained fixed in place as they walked inside, as if it had been painted there by one of the palace artists. Her mother seemed satisfied for the moment, which was victory enough. Yet beneath it all, confusion churned so fiercely that she barely heard half of what was being said around her.

Why did he care so much? The question had lodged itself firmly in her mind.

Lord Atria had absolutely nothing to gain from helping her. If anything, their arrangement would be far easier if he simply played the dutiful future husband and let Gwen take the fall. Instead, he had gone out of his way to reassure her, to shield her where he could, and now he was standing beside her playing his role so convincingly that even she was struggling to remember it was all an act.

Her eyes drifted toward him as they crossed the threshold. The line about the portrait artist. She recognized it immediately. It was from The Moon Over Theed, a terribly unrealistic romance holofilm she had watched no fewer than fourteen times.

The realization nearly made her laugh. It was such a ridiculous line, and yet somehow he'd delivered it so effortlessly that her mother had practically melted.

Gwen found herself staring for a moment. He was a much better actor than she'd expected. Perhaps that shouldn't have surprised her. Lord Atria commanded fleets, negotiated with senators, and apparently spent his free time dismantling arranged marriages. A man like that probably wore different masks every day.

Still...

The ease with which he'd become the attentive suitor was unsettling and, impressive and, if she were being honest, just a little unfair. Before she could dwell on it further, another voice echoed through the entrance hall.

"My apologies. Apparently, Guarlara are incapable of arriving on time when one actually needs them."

Gwen's head snapped up.

Artour. Relief flooded through her so suddenly she nearly sagged. Her older brother strode into the foyer still dressed in his travel clothes, blond hair slightly disheveled from the journey. One of the palace attendants hurried behind him carrying a satchel.

"The transport from the western district broke down halfway here," he explained, sounding annoyed. "I spent forty minutes waiting for a replacement."

Queen Elain immediately crossed the room.

"Artour, darling. Lord Atria this is our son Prince Artour."

Unlike Gwen, he tolerated their mother's affections with the long-suffering patience of someone who had surrendered years ago. He leaned down just enough to allow her to kiss his cheek. As his mother stepped aside, Artour's eyes moved past her. Straight to Lancel. A polite smile appeared immediately.

"Lord Atria." He offered a respectful bow of his head. "It's good to finally meet you."

Then his gaze shifted again, straight to his sister. The smile disappeared. Concern replaced it almost instantly. The same concern he'd worn for most of the last six months.

"Guinevere."

The name hit her with familiar disappointment.

Guinevere.

Not Gwen.

Never Gwen.

Not from her parents.

Not from Artour.

Not from anyone.

Only Elian ever called her Gwen, the name she preferred. The realization stung far more than it should have. Artour was perhaps the kindest person in her family, and yet even he didn't truly know who she was. Or perhaps he did know and simply didn't understand why it mattered. Gwen forced another smile.

"Welcome home." She tried to smile in a way that told him she was fine.

His expression suggested he didn't believe her for a second. Fortunately, King Leode chose that moment to rescue everyone from the awkwardness.

"Now then." The King clapped his hands together. "If Lord Atria isn't drinking alcohol, we can certainly accommodate that." He motioned toward one of the servants. "A sparkling water, if you would. The imported Naboo vintage."

The servant immediately hurried off. Leode turned back toward Lancel with an easy smile. "Since you're determined to keep a clear head, Lord Atria, perhaps we should make productive use of it."

The King accepted the glass from the returning servant and handed it over personally. "Any questions, concerns, or matters you'd like to discuss while we have the opportunity?" His tone remained warm and welcoming. "You're among friends here. We may as well address anything that's on your mind. If need be we can dismiss the women and move to my study. Perhaps Guinevere could prepare for the tour of the garden you requested."

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel accepted the offered glass, but before answering the King's question, he turned toward Artour.

"Your Highness." His smile was genuine this time. "I've heard quite a lot about you."

A dangerous statement, perhaps, given it was an outright lie. Fortunately, he continued before anyone could become concerned. "Mostly from Guinevere." The use of her formal name was deliberate, it aligned him with her parents more formal usage.

"Which means I am obligated to inform you that your reputation appears to consist primarily of rescuing her from situations she insists she was perfectly capable of handling herself." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "A claim I suspect she would immediately deny."

"Your Majesty is very kind." For a moment he appeared to consider the tought of questions seriously. In truth, there was only one matter worth discussing, if he and Guinevere were to advance their cause. Everything else was decoration.

His gaze moved briefly toward the Princess before returning to the King. "There is one matter, perhaps." His tone remained diplomatic.

"I understand the dowry negotiations remain unresolved," he said, the words landing softly.

Lancel took a measured sip of sparkling water. "Ordinarily I would have preferred to leave such discussions to our parents and their advisors. They are considerably better at them than I am." A faint smile touched his lips. "Unfortunately, my mother has become rather attached to the idea of determing the dowry before any final decisions are reached." The understatement was almost impressive. Attached was one way of describing Lady Atria's position. Obsessed was perhaps closer.

"She considers it an important courtesy to House Cavello, regardless of where the negotiations ultimately lead." His expression remained composed.

"I thought it only fair to acknowledge that I am aware the matter has not yet been concluded."

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

It was a strange thing to stand in a room while people discussed how much you were worth. Or at least, Gwen imagined it should have been. For her, it was simply life.

Every birthday, every Life Day, every holiday and formal celebration had brought some new contribution to her dowry. Jewels. Land rights. Investments. Trusts. She had never been allowed to know the exact figures, but she knew preparations for her marriage had begun before she could walk and had continued for eighteen years.

Eighteen years spent preparing to hand her over to someone else. If only that weren't true.

If only Lord Atria's family demanded more than the crown could reasonably provide. If only her father finally decided the cost was too high and called the whole arrangement off.

"Ah, yes. The matter of the dowry." King Leode smiled pleasantly. "I believe there has been rather a lot of discussion surrounding that particular topic. If you wish, Lord Atria, we can settle it now. Come. My study is just this way."

He turned without another glance toward the women. It wasn't a slight. Merely tradition. The negotiations belonged to the men.

The King led Lancel down the corridor to a handsome study furnished in an older style. A massive carved desk dominated the room, surrounded by deep upholstered chairs. Shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls between framed star charts and antique maps.

"Please, sit."

Leode settled into his chair. Artour took the seat to his right, leaving two remaining places for Lancel.

"Now then," the King continued. "We are prepared to offer whatever compensation your family considers appropriate. Unfortunately, your mother and my advisors failed to reach an agreement, but I am confident we can remedy that today. Once we understand House Atria's wishes, we will gladly accommodate them."

Artour shifted. The movement was slight, but enough to draw his father's attention.

"You have something to add?"

"Forgive me, Father." Artour folded his hands. "It simply feels rather sudden. Gwen and Lord Atria have known one another for barely two months. And his family has suffered a significant loss. I would not want them to feel we are pressuring them into a decision before they're ready."

"Nonsense." Leode waved the concern away. "A young bride is a desirable bride. Delaying serves no one."

His gaze returned to Lancel. "Unless, of course, you have reservations about the timeline Lord Atria? We certainly do not wish to intrude upon the mourning of your family.”

The King's expression was one of polite concern. Artour's was not. Suspicion lingered in his eyes. He knew his sister far better than either of their parents did, and something about this entire arrangement felt wrong. His sister had always understood her duty, but she had never embraced it. Never welcomed it. She had made him promise never to tell her parents about the romance holos she binged. She had asked him several times what it was like to have girlfriends, to go on dates, and fall in love. His sister was completely obsessed with the idea of an epic love story, and yet suddenly she was ready to jump into marriage with a man she barely knew?

No. Something wasn't adding up.

Meanwhile in the Dinning Room:​

The Queen was bustling around barking orders about polishing the silver again because it wasn’t good enough yet. Gwen was standing there, her head in the clouds when her mother hissed at her.

“Do not slouch young lady. You better hope this dowery nonsenses doesn’t drag on. Nobody wants to wed an old woman.”

Gwen flinched at these words. Lord Atria didn’t want to marry her now and she was eighteen. Why would anybody want to when she got even older?



Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel settled comfortably into the offered chair. He listened attentively as the King spoke, though it was Artour's interruption that truly captured his attention. Interesting.

Lancel had spent enough time among politicians to recognise the difference between opposition and protection. Artour was not protecting the negotiation. He was protecting his sister. "I would not characterise it as pressure, Your Majesty." His tone remained warm and open. "Princess Guinevere has been nothing but gracious, and House Atria is well aware of the honour being extended to us."

That much, at least, was entirely true.

His gaze shifted briefly toward Artour. "Though I confess your son raises a point worthy of consideration."

The prince was immediately given legitimacy rather than contradiction. "Atria and Cavello alike have experienced significant changes in recent months. Were the situation reversed, I suspect I would be asking similar questions on behalf of my own sister. Should one exist..."

A faint smile touched his lips before fading once more. "Reservations? No. I have none." At least, not officially.

The hint of the talum flower wafted through the room, causing Lancel to tense only briefly. It was a sharp reminder of the fruit forbidden unto him. His shoulders relaxed again. "What I do have is a desire to ensure that both our families are able to enjoy such an occasion properly."

He set his glass down carefully. "My mother, in particular, remains quite adamant that House Cavello be shown every courtesy. The Bundling is one example of that. She considers it important that traditions be respected." A diplomatic way of saying his mother had bulldozed straight through several advisors already. "At the same time, we are still navigating the aftermath of my brother's passing. My mother has assumed responsibilities she never expected to carry, and the only thing that hinders my assumption of the role is...marriage. But even still, grieving does take time."

His expression remained composed. "I would simply hate for either of our families to feel that such a significant union had been rushed for the sake of expediency."

Lancel folded his hands together. "Of course, if Princess Guinevere and House Cavello remain comfortable with the current timeline, House Atria will continue in good faith."

It was a careful answer, one that neither accepted nor rejected anything. There was too much risk in proposing the marriage not go ahead, but giving them more time to organise its end was very welcome.

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Artour watched as Lancel spoke, trying to find any hint of a reason to oppose the union. Perhaps he was protective of his sister or perhaps he was protecting the precious resource of a virginal princess the crown could use. Either way he detected no falsehood in Lord Artria’s speech. Lord Atria really did just seem like a noble who was trying to do what was best for his family.

Thr King seemed delighted at the answer. Clearly both of the princesses parents were ready to gush over this union and accept the Atria union without question. Even Artour couldn’t argue that moving forward would relieve burden on Lancel’s mother. The notion that any woman was in charge was an odd one to the prince and he couldn’t blame Lancel for wanting to cease that quickly.

“Well put Lord Atria. If you feel the timeline is sufficient I will raise no further objections. I simply wish to accommodate your family the best I can.”

“Wonderful!” The King seemed pleased. “Well Lord Atria we may continue at any pace your family deems worthy. I am certain you and the princess wish to have a proper courtship of course so we need not rush just yet, but my wife does rather have her heart set on a spring ceremony.”

He chuckled.

“We of course we will settle the dowery and observe certain traditions as we move forward and if everything goes smoothly we are honored to welcome you into the family!”

He leaned forward and smiled. “Now do you wish to settle dowery arrangements today? Or do you need to speak more with your family and advisors? I assure you that you need only name your price and we can move forward.”

Artour may had unknowingly bought Gwen and Lancel a little time to form a new plan, which was good considering both of them had come up empty in their search for a different arranged partner.

Despite that though there was still a ticking clock and like all clocks it wound eventually strike midnight. They could only hope that another solution presented itself before that fateful moment.

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel considered the King's words carefully before responding. In truth, the opening had been handed to him far more cleanly than he had anticipated. A spring ceremony. Something that would give them a few more months to poison plans. "I believe that would be wise, Your Majesty." His tone remained thoughtful rather than eager. "A spring ceremony would allow both our families the opportunity to enjoy the occasion properly. House Atria would certainly welcome a few additional months to settle affairs and conclude several obligations that have accumulated in recent months."

"And," he added with a faint smile, "I suspect Princess Guinevere deserves a courtship that extends beyond a single night of bundling."

The compliment was directed toward the King, but it cost him nothing to say. "As for the dowry, my mother's continued insistence is that it be only symbolic. She...may consider anything more an offence."

Lancel folded his hands atop one knee. "I hope you do not mistake caution for reluctance, however. House Cavello has shown my family extraordinary generosity." That much was true. "Which is precisely why I would prefer that we proceed correctly."

The answer left little room for objection. He had neither accepted nor rejected anything. He had simply sought time for reasonable purposes.

Rising smoothly from his chair, he offered a respectful inclination of his head to both the King and Artour. "If you'll forgive me, Your Majesty, I believe I requested a tour of the gardens earlier. I have spent most of this visit in neogtiaions. It occurs to me that I have had precious little opportunity to speak with the princess herself." His expression softened slightly. "And I find myself rather desirous of correcting that oversight." It was the sought of thing a prospective husband might say.

Lancel offered one final courteous smile. "With your permission, of course."

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Lancel truly did have the king completely taken in.

To King Leode, he was everything a future son-in-law ought to be: charming without arrogance, attentive to the princess, and, perhaps most importantly, the son of a family wealthy enough that Gwen's dowry might remain little more than a formality. Even the prince, who seemed determined to find fault with him, could discover nothing suspicious in Lancel's eagerness to return to Guinevere's side.

The meeting concluded, and they returned to find the queen and princess waiting outside the study.

Queen Elain beamed the moment she saw them. She always did when she looked at her future son-in-law.

Beside her, Gwen looked as though a strong breeze might carry her away. No one paid that any notice.

"Go on," Elain said warmly. "Enjoy the gardens together. We'll send for you when dinner is ready."

The dismissal was immediate.

As they walked away, Gwen glanced discreetly over her shoulder. No sign of Taza.

Again.

It was remarkable, really. She practically had to rearrange entire star systems to steal five minutes alone with Elian, yet everyone seemed determined to leave her unchaperoned whenever Lancel was involved.

She waited until the palace doors were well behind them and the sounds of the court had faded. Then she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Well?" she asked. "Did you demand such an outrageous dowry that my father called off the engagement?"

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

It was a joke, or at least an attempt at one. Her mother had repeatedly informed her that men disliked women who joked too much. Nevertheless, it was perhaps the first genuine expression Gwen had shown all week.

The smile did not last long, however. She was soon worrying about the inconvenience of this entire absurd thing once more.

"I'm sorry about this. I tried to talk my parents out of it."

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel waited until the palace doors had disappeared behind them before finally answering. "No," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I considered it." He clasped his hands behind his back as they walked along the garden path, adding, "Then I decided against testing the limits of his generosity."

She had made a joke, a genuine one. Perhaps it was not particularly good, but the rare sight of Guinevere attempting humour had earned a response in kind. The smile lingered for only a moment, however, before her predictable apology arrived.

Lancel sighed, his voice carrying only patience rather than irritation. "Princess, you did not arrange the engagement. You did not negotiate the dowry." They passed beneath an archway draped with flowering vines as he took another few steps. "And unless you've secretly become Chancellor of the Republic in the last hour, I don't believe you're responsible for your parents either."

His gaze shifted toward her, surprisingly earnest. "So I wish you would stop apologising for things that are not your fault." It was a simple, direct, and matter-of-fact conclusion. The sort he expected any reasonable person to reach, though whether Gwen would agree was another matter entirely.

For a time, he simply enjoyed the relative peace of the gardens. Compared to the endless, suffocating scrutiny inside the palace, the silence felt almost luxurious. Eventually, he spoke again, his words carrying a little more weight. "There is good news, however. We have time."

It was not victory, nor was it freedom, but it was time. "Spring appears to be the preferred timeline," he noted, his expression turning thoughtful. "I suspect that translates to several months before anyone expects a ceremony."

That meant several months to find alternatives, several months to formulate a plan, and several months before the clock began ticking loudly enough for everyone to hear it. For the first time since arriving at Camelot, the situation felt slightly less impossible.

Then he glanced toward her again. "You smiled," he observed unexpectedly. Lancel immediately regretted saying it aloud, but the words had already escaped. With a brief gesture, he added, "Just now. The joke."

His eyes returned to the path ahead as he murmured, "It suits you." The compliment was delivered with the same tone he might have used to comment on the weather, entirely sincere and entirely unguarded. Perhaps because of that, it was far more dangerous than any practiced flirtation he had offered all day.

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

He was being patient and kind, something she had not expected. Their first meeting had somehow cemented him in her mind as an arrogant brute who wouldn't even look her in the eye. Perhaps it had been easier to believe a man like that was responsible for her future crumbling than to face the reality of it herself.

The Lancel beside her today was different. Almost charming. Perhaps he had spent so much time charming her parents that he was having trouble turning it off.

"Time is a blessing," she said softly.

Mostly because her list had proven entirely useless. The most promising candidate on it, a duke, had run off with his male gardener the month before. Even if they found him, she suspected she was sincerely not his type.

When he mentioned her smile, warmth rushed to her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, suddenly fascinated by the path beneath their feet. It was a strange feeling. Normally, a compliment from her future husband would have made her heart soar. It was what she'd always been taught to want. To hope for. To dream about.

But Lancel wasn't her future husband, and yet his words still lingered pleasantly in her chest.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She slipped her hand around his arm as they continued walking. For once, it wasn't because she knew they were being watched.

She simply wanted to touch him. The realization left her more flustered than she cared to admit.

For a while, they walked in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She was relieved he wasn't upset with her, but his easy acceptance stirred a new uncertainty.

Perhaps this wasn't strange for him. Perhaps he had done this before, spent time with someone, shared quiet conversations, made them smile without even trying. The thought twisted unexpectedly in her stomach. Did everyone have more experience than she did?

"Lord Atria… can… can I ask you something?" She regretted speaking immediately and would not look at him. "Something personal?"

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

That time was a blessing was a point upon which they were, at last, in most perfect agreement.

Lord Lancel permitted the conversation to lapse into a tranquility that was far from disagreeable as they pursued the winding garden paths. It was no awkward silence. On the contrary, after an afternoon sacrificed to the rigorous exactions of court etiquette, tedious negotiations, and the heavy burden of expectation, this suspension of performance was felt as a rare refreshment.

When she took his arm, the gesture, he must confess, surprised him. It was not that the action lacked propriety - for they were, by all public accounts, engaged in a courtship - but rather that it possessed an air so entirely unforced and natural. He found himself wondering, with no small degree of interest, whether she was at all conscious of how thoroughly she altered when removed from her parents' immediate scrutiny. She appeared less guarded, less rehearsed, and infinitely more herself. The realisation was unexpectedly pleasant. Indeed, it was dangerous territory.

Fortunately, there remained the trifling matter of averting a royal wedding. His reflections drifted back to the immediate dilemma. They had several months remaining - not enough to render them comfortable, perhaps, but sufficient to be useful. Surely, somewhere within the notoriously dysfunctional aristocracy of Naboo, a remedy must exist. There must be a duke who had not eloped with the gardeners, a countess who was not actively plotting to scandalise her relations, or a noble heir who had not vanished entirely into the wild, uncharted spaces of the galaxy. The world could not be entirely populated by lunatics, though the evidence hitherto collected offered very little encouragement.

When Gwen finally broke the silence, the sudden hesitation in her voice immediately arrested his attention. "Lord Atria," she said. Not Lancel. It was interesting, too, to observe that she steadfastly avoided his gaze.

"Something personal?" The inquiry provoked a slight smile from him. He moderated his pace, allowing them to linger beneath the shade of a flowering tree whose branches swayed gently in the afternoon breeze.

"Princess," he remarked, his expression assuming a character of thoughtful gravity, "I have spent the better part of this day persuading your family that I am a man of respectability and strict trustworthiness. I should grieve to undermine several hours of such excellent industry by refusing a question now."

The smile returned an instant later - warm, effortless, and perhaps a little amused. In truth, he felt a lively anticipation regarding whatever subject had managed to fluster her so thoroughly. The lady beside him was becoming increasingly difficult to predict, and that quality, far more than her beauty or her elevated title, was what he found himself most thoroughly enjoying.

"Personal?" he repeated. Then, with a composure that did him the greatest credit, he added, "Why, of course. Since we are to share a bed for the first time this evening, I do believe 'personal' is a realm we may safely enter."

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

She had secretly hoped he would refuse.

It would have spared her from asking the question that had been twisting in her stomach since he'd agreed. The very thought of it left her flustered. This was unfamiliar territory, embarrassing, frightening, silly, and painfully intimate. Gwen knew how to navigate a noble court with poise, how to speak with diplomacy, how to carry herself with effortless grace that her title demanded. But when it came to matters of affection, attraction, or simply being alone with a man… she was hopelessly inexperienced.

They paused beneath a flowering tree, its pale blossoms drifting lazily on the breeze.

"I…" she began, then stopped.

The hesitant sound made her wince. Her mother would have corrected her immediately. A lady gathers her thoughts before she speaks.

She tried again.

"I was wondering…" Her fingers absently smoothed the fabric of her skirt. "Have you… done this before?"

Silence lingered for a heartbeat.

Only then did she realize how vague she'd been.

Her cheeks bloomed a furious pink as she hurried to clarify, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the grass between them.

"I mean…" she said softly, swallowing her embarrassment. "Shared a bed with someone."

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, certain that if she did she might simply disappear from humiliation.

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel listened with a countenance that remained perfectly serene, though a lively spark of amusement danced within his eyes as he beheld her growing timidity. He found a distinct, if somewhat wicked, pleasure in witnessing the utter collapse of her usual courtly poise, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of the formidable princess so entirely discomposed by a single inquiry.

"Your question, Princess, is as charmingly candid as it is unexpected," he replied, his tone perfectly genteel and entirely devoid of offense. He looked upon her flushed cheeks with an indulgence that was only slightly masked by his polite demeanor. "I must confess, my years of service in the Epican Navy provided an existence rather different from the sheltered routine of a provincial estate. Whilst deployed to various foreign stations, the duties of a young officer frequently permitted...and indeed, occasionally encouraged....opportunities to fraternise with the ladies of those distant worlds."

He paused, offering her a modest, almost deprecating smile that did not entirely conceal his satisfaction at watching her squirm.

"I should be practicing a most unhandsome deceit if I pretended to have neglected those opportunities altogether. I have, in my time, enjoyed the society of many admirable women."

Here, his smile broadened with a touch of genuine wit, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate cadence that seemed designed to heighten her delightfully agonising confusion.

"However, I must reassure you that this particular custom...this singular arrangement of 'bundling' under a shared roof before the vows are spoken...is an novelty even to a pilot. In all my travels across the galaxy, this is quite the first time I have been invited to share a bed under such highly regulated, yet remarkably intimate, circumstances. You see before you a man who, despite his varied past, is entirely unacquainted with the etiquette of the situation."

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Relief came first. He wasn't offended. The knot that had been tightening in her chest eased, and she released the smallest breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. At least she hadn't insulted him. At least he didn't think her hopelessly foolish.

Then came the rest.

Many admirable women.

The words settled quietly in her stomach.

Her eyes remained lowered, though against her better judgment she stole the briefest glance toward him. She supposed she should not have been surprised. He was remarkably handsome, after all, though she had tried very hard not to notice such things. Today had only made it worse. Beneath the polished manners and easy confidence was a warmth that caught her off guard. He had a smile that could be disarmingly charming, one that seemed to appear at precisely the right moment and left her forgetting every lesson in composure she had ever been taught.

Of course women would have been drawn to him. Who wouldn't be? The thought left her feeling painfully…ordinary.

She had never even been courted.

His final remark seemed almost designed to put her at ease. Whether it was deliberate kindness or merely another example of his effortless charm for today's occasion, she appreciated it all the same. Yet it did little to quiet the uneasy thoughts gathering in the corners of her mind.

It wasn't jealousy.

Lancel was not hers, nor had he ever given her reason to believe he might be. She had no claim upon his past, and she knew it would be unfair to resent it.

No, what she felt was something far smaller.

Inadequate.

He had lived a life filled with distant worlds, adventures, and women who had undoubtedly known exactly how to laugh with him, flirt with him, and hold his attention. Meanwhile, she had spent her life learning diplomacy, genealogy, and the proper placement of silverware at state dinners. She had never been kissed. Never courted. Never even entertained the sort of conversations that now left her cheeks burning.

For the first time, she found herself wondering if her parents had sheltered her too well. Purity had always been spoken of as a virtue, but standing beside Lancel, it felt less like a virtue and more like an absence. What if men preferred women who already knew these things? Women who didn't blush at every awkward question or stumble over subjects everyone else seemed to understand?

"I… see," she managed quietly, offering a polite smile that etiquette demanded, though it failed to reach her eyes. "Thank you for answering honestly."

Her gaze drifted back to the flowering tree, following a blossom as it floated lazily to the ground. The silence between them lingered for several moments before she finally spoke again.

"I must admit…" she said softly, almost apologetically, "…I am rather inexperienced in…well…"

A nervous laugh escaped her. "In everything.”

She knew this was no secret. Even Elian could tell she didn’t understand the intricacies of what men wanted in these situations. The thought made her feel even lower.

“Though I do know we have more pressing concerns than my own naivety. I assume since you have not mentioned it yet that your findings for alternatives were likewise displeasing?”

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel cast a fleeting glance in her direction, appearing, for a brief interval, to weigh the gravity of the dilemma with utmost sincerity. "Princess," he murmured, "I should gladly offer to relieve you of the heavy burden of your inexperience."

A profound silence ensued.

"Yet, I am firmly persuaded that the Queen, your mother, would have my life." A faint, involuntary smile played upon the corner of his lip. It was, indeed, a formidable task to maintain one's dignity after uttering a sentiment so remarkably forward. Most fortunately, the discourse shifted with great celerity toward safer, less treacherous ground. They turned their attention to the matter of alternative suitors.

Instantly, his countenance darkened with displeasure.

"Pray, do not speak to me of alternative suitors," he said, a sigh of dramatic vexation escaping his chest. "I embarked upon this enterprise under the pleasant delusion that the galaxy might boast at least one solitary noble...unmarried, reasonably sound of mind, and at liberty to wed. Instead, I discovered a Duke who has eloped with his own gardener, a Countess resolutely bent on marrying a swoop racer, and a noble heir who has vanished into the perils of Wild Space in pursuit of ancient treasure."

He shook his head in absolute bewilderment.

"One gentleman of my acquaintance took holy vows and joined a monastery. Quite remarkable, really. He did so twice." Lancel remained, to that hour, entirely at a loss to comprehend how such a feat had been accomplished.

"To be sure, there were a few instances of genuine misfortune," he continued, softer now. "Widows yet consumed by grief, families overtaken by sudden calamity, and individuals whose private circumstances rendered marriage quite impossible."

In those unhappy cases, at least, a proper dignity had been preserved. The remainder of the registry inspired nothing but utter consternation.

"At present, I am strongly inclined to suspect that the aristocracy of the Republic is engaged in a singular, concerted effort to frustrate our designs." His tone, though light, suggested he was only half in jest. "Which leaves us with the melancholy truth that my inquiries have proved every bit as disheartening as your own."

He fixed his gaze once more upon the winding garden path before them.

The predicament remained altogether preposterous. Yet, by some strange alchemy, discussing the business with Gwen rendered the affliction considerably lighter to bear. It was a perilous realisation, and one which he very wisely resolved not to examine too closely.

Guinevere Cavello
​

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Did he just offer to sleep with her?

Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming into a deep blush. She managed a nervous laugh at his remark about her mother, but inside her thoughts tumbled over one another in a dizzying spiral. Perhaps men truly did prefer women with experience. Perhaps his offer was proof enough of that. The afternoon suddenly felt stifling, the air thick against her skin. She shifted awkwardly, her fingers worrying the hem of her dress as if the simple motion might steady her racing heart.

Mercifully, the conversation drifted from her flustered silence to the fruitless search for a suitable match. It seemed he had encountered the very same obstacles she had.

"Alas, it appears your brother may have arranged the last suitable union among our peers."

A quiet sigh escaped her before she could stop it. Hearing the words spoken aloud made them feel all the more final. If Lancel truly had been the only appropriate match, and he refused to marry her, then what hope remained? Every eligible name had been crossed away until only empty possibilities were left. For the first time, the future stretched before her not as an unwritten story, but as a narrowing road with nowhere left to turn.

Her mind drifted to Elian, as it so often did these days, and she felt her frustration increase. He was the only reason she hadn’t ran away from home yet. It was tempting to just leave, like so many nobles in their search, but she worried she may never see her friend again.

“We may need to consider other options if we cannot find a match.”

Lancel Atria

 

[Lancel Atria]

Lancel remained silent for several moments, a quietude born not from a deficiency of thought, but rather from the increasingly disagreeable nature of the ideas which presented themselves to his mind.

"We may," he replied softly.

Ahead of them, a narrow brook wound its way through the grounds, the afternoon sunlight dancing merrily across the water. Lancel crossed the stream first, stepping with practiced ease from stone to stone, before turning back to offer her his hand. The gesture was executed with such natural grace that it appeared entirely devoid of artifice or deliberation.

"As it happens," he continued, choosing his words with an unusual degree of caution, "there are occasionally alternatives to marriage itself."

"Difficult, inconvenient alternatives," he added, though his countenance betrayed how deeply he disliked the prospect of pursuing them.

"Certain appointments, perhaps. Diplomatic postings or responsibilities that place a considerable demand upon one's future."

His mouth tightened faintly at the notion. The thought of spending years stationed in some distant, foreign world held remarkably little appeal for him, particularly as it would require the arduous task of convincing half the government that his exile was a brilliant design. Still, it remained a distinct possibility, and one that had occupied his thoughts more than once.

"A sufficiently important assignment," he observed, in what was perhaps the most diplomatic description imaginable, "can complicate even the most carefully arranged plans."

His hand remained extended toward her, patient and waiting, though he could not help but add, "Though I suspect my mother would find such a solution deeply offensive." It was a rare understatement; in truth, she would undoubtedly deem it an absolute catastrophe.

His gaze drifted past her as a gentle breeze stirred the branches overhead, guiding them into a secluded clearing dominated by a magnificent willow tree. Its pale blossoms drifted lazily through the air, the white petals falling in slow spirals like winter snow beneath the summer sun. For a brief interval, a strange stillness settled over the world. It was a welcome respite from negotiations, dowries, and expectations. There was only the quiet murmur of the brook and the gentle descent of the flowers.

Lancel looked back toward her, his hand still proferred without pressure or expectation, simply waiting beneath the willow's silver canopy.

"You know. If this were real...this would be the moment that we kissed for the first time." His words fell out with no venom, nor disregard, but instead with what amounted to curiosity.

Guinevere Cavello
​