The young Eirish squire seemed poised to leap off the galley and swim to shore. The sea-wind tousled his dark hair and touched his pale cheeks with colour. Stiofan's blue eyes were troubled, determined, searching the horizon for a glimpse of the bay.

"How much longer?" he turned urgently to the Captain, a weathered seaman who had assured Stiofan of a swift and discreet crossing to Bretagne. Only the squire knew that his destination was Camelot.

The older man chuckled, "Patience, lad. My crew will deliver you in the promised time." His eyes narrowed shrewdly, "All that coin for a simple crossing. Are all the Eirish so careless with their money?"

Stiofan's eyes snapped, "I'm paying you for speed. And privacy," his voice left no room for argument. The captain shrugged and moved away.

Stiofan felt for the medallion secreted in his doublet, an almost involuntary gesture he had developed since Sir Tristan and his majesty King Peadar had entrusted the message to him.
 
Remember, Stiofan.  Do not entrust our words to paper.

The squire had been chosen for his loyalty and determination, and the importance of this task weighed heavily on him.  If all went well, he might achieve his Knighthood sooner than expected. The mysterious uprisings that had consumed parts of Eirinn needed every able man, and Sir Tristan himself had said Stiofan would make a fine warrior.

You and you alone must deliver this message to Lady Guinevere.

He would fulfill his task. Or die trying.


***

Guinevere didn't quite remember how they ended up tucked behind three massive pillars, stealing kisses before supper. Ah yes.

She had been walking to the Hall for supper when a strong hand shot out and pulled her swiftly behind the comfortingly large columns.
Her gasp of shock had melted into a smile when she looked up at Arthur, his sky-coloured eyes all gleaming, holding another exquisite red rose from his mother's garden.

"Something for your hair, milady," he had whispered gallantly before tucking the flower carefully into the thick twist of curls at her nape.

Gwen had recalled that long-ago day in Eirinn when he had tried and failed amusingly at affixing bluebells in her hair.
"Your skills have improved, milord," she'd laughed. For a moment it had seemed so natural, that they should laugh together over such courtly gestures as though kingdoms did not stand between them. Then Arthur's face had grown serious, his eyes dark as twilight-blue as they lowered to her lips. Her breath had quickened.

What are we doing? Her thoughts were scattered like feathers as his large, strong hands travelled over the tight-laced bodice while his mouth claimed hers. She felt reckless and light-headed, the fear of being discovered adding a feverish edge to the arousal that now steamed in their breath. Guinevere gave into her long urge and ran her fingers through his bright hair, eliciting a soft moan from his lips. Arthur's tongue slipped into her mouth, caressing hers in a delicious duel that slowly turned her insides molten. His hands came to her petite hips, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to grasp her delectable rump.

Remember yourself Arthur.
 
His lips trailed urgent kisses into the honey-satin curve of her throat, and she shivered as his hot breath danced across her skin. Arthur watched her beautiful breasts rise and fall over the bodice and groaned. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down, unlace her bodice with his teeth and lavish those breasts with his tongue and mouth. He vaguely noted a thin silver chain that lay part-hidden between her bosom, a rivulet of light against her lovely warm skin.
"You're so beautiful, Guinevere," he murmured against her throat. She arched into him in response to her name.
Say my name again.

The sound of approaching footsteps grew unmistakeable, and Arthur reluctantly drew back from her. Gwen smoothed down her bodice, her own heart pounding, wandering distractedly if she looked as askew as she felt, noting helplessly how attractive Arthur's lips were, all swollen from their kisses. She closed her eyes and took a breath, gathering her thoughts. Arthur lifted her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. He frowned slightly to note that Melwas' bruising grip was visible, though faded.

"We'll be missed at supper if we don't make an appearance soon," she spoke with quiet reluctance.

He nodded, exhaling slowly, "You go ahead. No one will be suspicious that way. Also I uhh--," he glanced down and back up quickly, flushing, "I need a moment."

Gwen followed his look, blushing too as the meaning behind his words became clear. That she could affect him so sent pleasure spiralling giddily through her veins.
"Oh," she bit back a smile, and then leaned up on her tiptoes, "See you at supper," she whispered in his ear, deliberately and recklessly seductive, brushing her lips there.

Playing with fire, that's what I'm doing.

She was rewarded by a sharp breath from Arthur, but before they could both collapse beneath temptation again she slipped away, stepping discreetly back into the hallway. Feeling his eyes on her, Guinevere turned back one last time. 

And smiled the smile that was for him and him only.

***
 
One day ago

Stiofan was tired. Four days since his ship had weighed anchor, he was at last within a day's ride from the walls of Camelot.  Girded with the secrecy of his mission, he had eschewed inns and taverns, keeping to the forest trails and making such camp as he could.
He rubbed his hands for warmth over a small fire, wandering if he dared to build a bigger flame. But these woods were famed for bandits, and Stiofan would risk discovery neither by lawless brigands nor the patrols of Camelot. His stomach growled, reminding him that he'd eaten little but squirrel meat and berries for well nigh four days. He was still young, and not quite so battle-hardened as the older Knights.

The squire reached instinctively into his clothes and drew out the medallion, the key to his message. In the flickering light he ran his thumb over the obsidian design. It gleamed with slippery light, like beady eyes watching. Stiofan hastily returned it to the secret pocket in his doublet. He would be glad to be done with the mission. He longed for the rewards of a clean bed and good fire, the taste of a hearty broth.

Sleep came slowly.

It was many hours later, dreams flickering uneasily behind his eyes and the fire long dead, that the sound of voices awoke him. Disoriented, Stiofan slowly drew out his sword, surveying the woods. Nothing.
He listened. There it was. The unmistakeable sound of whispering voices.
Sword in hand, he crept along the trees, stealthy and swift the way Sir Tristan had trained them. The voices grew closer. They were feminine in timbre, whispering urgently.

Stiofan crouched behind a tree, risking a glance through the undergrowth. He could discern two figures in the waning moonlight. One was enamel-pale and dark haired, shrouded in a cloak of rich purple shadows. She appeared to be listening to the other woman, slender with fire-bright gold hair. As snatches of their words reached his ears, Stiofan grew cold with fear.

"You must intercept this messenger, sister. At all costs, Guinevere cannot learn of our alliance with Melwas until the time is right."

"But how do I intercept him if I don't know who he is?"

Stiofan craned his neck, but he had grown careless. A twig snapped under his foot, the sharp sound unmistakeable in the night forest. The gold-haired woman turned, startled, and Stiofan looked into eyes bright as fire, deadly as steel, venomous as a coiled serpent.

He ran.

***

To Guinevere's relief, supper progressed smoothly. Though she tried valiantly to avoid Arthur's eyes, every so often she would meet his glance, and the memory of their stolen encounter would wash over her in a warm, delicious wave. 
Wary of Melwas' watchful eyes, she kept her smiles hidden, but couldn't refrain from lightly touching the rose in her hair at intervals. It was their secret, hers and Arthur's. 

She realized Morgana was absent, and sighed inwardly. They had barely spoken since Uther's recovery. While she had agreed to stay close to Morgana and learn her secrets, she was relieved not to be in her presence. This woman who performed blood magic without hesitation, who would ally herself with dark sorcery in secrecy from her closest friends, was not the friend she knew and loved.

Meanwhile, Geoffery was regaling the King with some monotonous account of the lineage of royal houses, to which Arthur was compelled to listen. Or at least, pretend to listen. He would much rather pay attention to Guinevere, and he imagined they were dining alone, so that these trained pretences could fall away, and he could savour openly the candlelit shadows at her throat, between her breasts, in her liquid eyes...

"Arthur are you listening?"

Guinevere took a discreet sip of her wine as Arthur's eyes snapped to the King. Uther was still frail from his illness, but his voice rung with enough authority to startle his son.

Across from her, Melwas watched her closely, "You're not eating, my dear," he remarked, cutting lazily into his meat so that the juices pooled on his plate. He always ate his meat slowly, deliberately, as though enjoying the slow slicing of flesh. It made Guinevere ill.

She schooled her face for a suitably polite answer when the doors opened and one of Melwas' pages rushed to his side.

"Apologies milord, but I have an urgent message for you," he thrust a note into Melwas' hand. He read it swiftly, and Gwen could swear his sallow face grew paler.

"If you'll forgive me, milords. I have some urgent business to attend," he stood briskly, then turned to Merlin where he stood with the other servants, "You, boy. See that the rest of my supper is sent up to my chambers."

The doors closed behind him.

"As I was saying," Uther continued, bending a meaningful glance at Arthur, "The princess Mithian arrives tomorrow. We're all hoping for an alliance with Nemeth, Arthur.  Rumors of her beauty...,"

The rest of his words grew hushed and blurred for Guinevere, as though she had pressed a large conch shell to each ear.

An alliance with Nemeth.

A potential bride.

Did he know all along? Did he know when he was whispering soft words against my skin?

The food on her plate suddenly looked as appetizing as the slime of troll caves. Guinevere forced herself to push the vegetables around until a decent amount of time elapsed, before wiping her lips discreetly and excusing herself.

Yes, she had played with fire. And now her heart was helpless to withstand the inevitable flame.

***

It was deep night when a slow shaking on her arm awakened her.

“Guinevere. Gwen! Wake up.”

She blinked once, then twice, pushing tendrils of hair off her face, “Merlin? What is it?” she sat up suddenly, “What’s wrong?”

“Come quick, get your cloak. We don’t have much time.”

Gwen threw on her dressing gown and cloak, and then followed Merlin out.  He was leading her to Gaius’ chambers.

“A man was found near-dead by the western parapets,” he whispered urgently as they sped across the courtyard like shadows.

“Who is it? What’s that got to do with me, Merlin?”

“Gaius will explain. Come on.”

The physician was bending over the prostrate form of a man, his face grave. 

“Ah Guinevere,” he gestured for her, “Quickly child, we must make haste. Leon has gone to fetch Arthur and the King.”

She hurried forward, bracing herself. On the table was a young man, recently dead, the colour still fading from his young cheeks.  His tunic was stained with new blood.

“Do you know this man, Guinevere?” Gaius asked quietly.

She stared, and then stared again. Vague snatches of memory came back, elusive as dandelion dust. A tourney maybe…several years ago…but there were so many squires, so many young, hopeful men hovering around the Knights like moths about a flame.

“I…can’t be sure, Gaius. Why…what’s going on?”

Gaius’s face grew graver still. He covered up the man’s face with a blanket.

“When they brought me to him it was already too late, the wound was too deep. But before he passed he was muttering…I couldn’t make out much, it was barely whispers. But I caught your name, Guinevere. Twice he said it. Then he tried to reach into his pocket, but he couldn’t raise his hand.”

Icy fear crawled down her spine.

Merlin put a hand on her shoulder, “ We found this on his body,” he unfolded his palm, and the medallion gleamed at her knowing as a raven’s eye.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked slowly, “Who-,”

“- we can discuss this later Guinevere,” Gaius broke in, “You must return to your chambers before anyone sees you here. Whoever killed this man was determined to stop him from reaching you,” he bent a sombre glance on them both, “ Until we know who did this, no one must know you’ve seen the body, do you understand child?”

Gwen nodded, her eyes fixed on the outline of the corpse, “I…understand.”

She returned to her chambers with no event, but sleep evaded her. Her mind swam with waking dreams, a young squire gasping her name, and the shadowy wings of raven folding over his screams.