"I cannot deny that. I can, however, change what this prize I want most desperately might be."

"THE plan, Arthur. We must work on the plan," Isabel said, while Arthur was unforgivably debating another plan. Although the servants had doused the garden lanterns for the night, he'd lit them again when he'd come out to ponder the future. It was al a jumble of what he had always envisioned, expected and desired. So much of it al had gone awry. When had he lost control? For some time he had wanted to keep it al together, running smoothly. And then the gods had made a mockery of his dreams and desires.

Or had they?

Isabel sat staring at him intently, her blond hair shimmering from the lantern lights, her eyes so large and inquisitive.

"I love her. I know that I do. But what does it say about me that I am not stopping what I see happening and that I have this attraction to another woman? How is it possible that I felt a desire for you on first sight?"

Wow, this honesty thing that the Lady's necklace brought about was a lot more powerful than she'd thought.

"Perhaps, just perhaps, that you fel for a beautiful woman who was just a teeny bit too young for you?"

He again shook his head. "Which makes me an old fool?"

"Arthur, you are neither old, nor a fool. Gwen is a lovely young woman. And I do believe she loves you as wel . I see it when she looks at you. She respects and admires you, and is proud to be your queen."

"Do you see love or desire when she gazes upon me?"

"I haven't been around long enough to discern such a thing."

That was the biggest bunch of bul shit she'd had to gag out. Al she'd noticed was lust and desire when the queen had kept sneaking peeks at Lancelot.

"Bul shit. Apologies for that word and for using it in your presence. I made it up at one point when I felt I was being deceived. You are not giving me truth."

She stared at him for a second, then broke out laughing. "You, sir, are quite honest."

"You, madam, are skirting the issue that you've promised to help me work out."

Isabel wished she could have gone back and majored in psychology. But she had nothing but basic logic to go on now. And the Lady, who she hoped would kick her in the chest if she went wrong.

"May I be blunt?"

"Blunt?"

"Truthful to the point that it might cause you pain."

"Then be blunt, Countess."

"I think you love Gwen enough to al ow her happiness. I think you shield her from gossip because you want her to go about this tryst if it al ows her to find her joy. I think you don't banish Lancelot because you know that the two find joy together. Would you like me to go on and have you banish me?"

"I would fight my own men to keep you here, Countess."

"Ask yourself, why do you permit this?"

"Happiness is a fleeting thing, do you not think? Am I the arbiter of happiness? The crown does not grant me the right to determine who should and should not find theirs, wherever it leads." He once again cocked his head sideways. "The truth is, I honestly know not. Strange as it seems, I want Gwen to be happy."

"You're a good-hearted man, Arthur."

"With many, many flaws it appears."

"Such as?"

"Poor judgment, perhaps?"

Isabel stood. "Are you saying poor judgment would be wanting to kiss me?"

"No, madam, that would most likely be one of my best judgments."

"No offense, but do you consider yourself good at this?"

His eyes glittered and he shrugged. "'Tis a mystery. Mayhap I am mistaken and overly boastful in that skil . How shal I ever know?"

"Sir, I'm wel schooled in certain arts. Perhaps I can determine if this is a deadly fault of yours?"

Isabel waited for the thump, but it never came.

He went stil . "Madam, I would most certainly accept your honest opinion."

They looked at each other for a long time before he final y lowered his head. Their mouths met tentatively at first, but the fire lit up fast. Before she could even think, his one hand thrust itself through her hair and his other went to the smal of her back, pul ing her closer. He broke the kiss long enough to stare into her eyes and whisper, "I must do better."

If he did any better, Isabel was going to get seared. His mouth came down on hers again, and he played so many mil ion tricks on her lips that she needed him to hold her up. He tasted like sex, he played her mouth like sex, he nipped her lips lightly like pure sex.

By the time he was done with her mouth, the rest of her body was churning.

Arthur broke the kiss and cupped her face, which left the rest of her body in peril of dropping straight to the ground. Her knees certainly weren't helping to hold her up. She began to sink, but he quickly grabbed her around the waist and pul ed her back up. "That bad?" he asked.

She knew her eyes and brain were both glazed. Her vocal chords were also in peril.

Isabel cleared her throat. "Sir, where I come from," she whispered, "we grade our students from A to F, A being awesome, F meaning failure. B, C, and D fal in between."

"And where do I fal , Isabel?" he asked, stil gril ing her with those mossy green eyes.

"Not only would you make the dean's list, you'd probably make valedictorian."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry? Betimes our languages do not match."

"My apologies, sir. What I'm saying is you get an A-plus."

He smiled. "And this is good?"

"Valedictorian material, Arthur."

"What is higher than this valedictorian? I would very much like to achieve it."

"I'd very much like for you to try."

"You are very beautiful, Isabel. Your hair is as soft as is your skin, and you smel so sweet."

"You're talking way too much, Arthur, when in truth, I'd prefer you just shut up and kiss me again."

But instead of covering her lips with his, his head raised and he almost slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shhh, lady. Something is amiss," he whispered.

Not the rabbit again. Or maybe it would be better if it were another rabbit.

Before she knew what was happening, Arthur had shoved her behind his back as he faced the darkness of the shrubbery down the garden path.

"Present yourself!" he demanded. "Are you friend or foe?"

A voice beyond the light of the lanterns replied, "'Tis only, I, my king. 'Tis James."

James, Isabel remembered, was the huge burly guy who was the king's first man. She didn't know whether to run and hide, or pretend to be a fence post. Arthur didn't give her a choice. He held on to her so tightly that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to.

"Come, James. Tel me why you are up and about. And why you have come looking for me."

James came rumbling in, and yet strangely he walked as softly as a bal erina. He, too, had learned how to walk softly but carry big-real y big- bulk. He reminded Isabel of Shrek, and yet when she peeked out beside Arthur's side, his expression turned from worried to kind.

"M'lady Countess," he said, bowing.

"How's it going, James?" she said, for some reason liking him, once again thinking Arthur had surrounded himself with kick-ass people.

"I am afraid I must needs have a word with the king, Countess Isabel. A private word."

"What you have to say to me you may say in front of the countess, James. I trust her with news. As I trust you with my life."

Wel , that was real y sweet. But out of the blue. She couldn't be certain she'd trust Arthur with al of her news after such a little time, and a lot of lust. She final y disengaged from Arthur and moved to his side. "I am certain what James has to say is no business of mine. Please, let me leave you two to privacy."

Arthur grabbed her hand, holding tight, but not to the point of pain. "No, madam, whate'er the news, I know it be safe with you."

James had huge brown eyes and hair that appeared not to have been combed since he'd been a child. To anyone who didn't know him wel , which she didn't, he appeared menacing. But as he glanced back and forth between them, Isabel could tel he was not mean. Just very fierce looking. Which probably was what had earned him this gig.

"I'm leaving," Isabel said, and once again tried to disengage.

"Please do not," Arthur said, holding tight to her hand. "What news, James?"

James hesitated, but then shrugged his huge shoulders. "Mordred has arrived, sir."

ARTHUR was not certain whether to celebrate or worry over the news. "In the middle of the night?"

"'Tis, as you are wel aware, his usual practice."

"Mordred?" Isabel asked.

Arthur hung on to her hand even tighter, just hoping he was not hurting her. But his need of her burned more now than ever afore. "Have you given him accommodations?" he asked James.

"I knew not where to put him. I knew not whether he was welcome."

"You know that I cannot turn him away. But of course make him welcome."

"He is demanding help for his horse, who he assures me has come up lame from the travel through the forest."

"Wake up Harry," Isabel said. "He wil tend to the horse. But for goodness sake, someone tel me who Mordred is."

James went instantly mute and looked away.

For a reason Arthur could not fathom, he could not lie to this woman. "He is my son."

Isabel stared at him, then back to James, whose head was low but who nodded in agreement.

"I so should have paid more attention in Mythology."

"My pardon, madam?" James said.

"Since this news seem happy for neither of you, I'm assuming Mordred's arrival is not a cause for celebration? The truth, Arthur."

"Mordred loves me not," Arthur said. "He feels I've wronged him."

"Have you?"

"He has not!" James boomed. "He has done everything for that ungrateful little-"

"James!"

"My pardon, sir."

"Finish your thought please, James," Isabel said.

"Do not," said Arthur.

James pressed his lips together. Obviously king trumped countess. Since he was Arthur's man, she would have expected nothing less.

What am I missing here, Goddess?

The blood between Arthur and Mordred is shared, but Mordred's intentions should have everyone scared. He's a child born of young love and lust, yet his mother understood Arthur must do what he must. The child, however, never forgave; his hatred has driven him to make Arthur his slave.

Isabel tasted blood. Little fucking bastard.

Bastard indeed, but here is the thing: Mordred will not rest until he is king.

Isabel digested this for a moment, not able to even meet Arthur's eyes. "Fine," she final y said to Arthur and James. "How about I go wake Harry so he may care for Mordred's horse?"

"No!" they both yel ed at once. Arthur tried to grab her, but she was already slipping away back into the castle. He should have held tight to her hand.

"What now, sir?"

"She wil confront Mordred. 'Tis in her nature, James. She is the type to want to know everything. She is, what one would cal ..." A word would not come to him.

Nosy? Protective? Caring?