Gwen & Art Are Not in Love

by Lex Croucher

“Can’t you go and rough him up or something?” Gwen demanded of Gabriel, who was still staring at Arthur. “What? Er. No. Might cause a minor political incident.” “Cause a major one. Do it for me. He insulted my honor.” “Did he?” “Well, no. But he was very snippy with me.” Gabriel gave her a wry smile. “You’ll live.”

“Nobody else is ever going to care as much as you do about the things that you want, Gwendoline. So it’s up to you—you can put them aside forever, if you can live with that, or you can put on your big-girl girdle and demand more for yourself.”

“What’s that smell?” she said, as he held out an arm and she took it. “Oh, lovely, that’s just what a person likes to hear in lieu of greeting.” “No, it’s—it’s nice,” Gwen said quickly, eager to keep the hard-won peace. “You smell like something … I don’t know, musky. And kind of like—a tree?” “Kind of like a tree,” Arthur repeated despairingly. “It’s orange and sandalwood. You pain me. Kind of like a tree.” “What part of anything you just said doesn’t come from a tree?” Gwen said indignantly.

“What are you doing?” Gwen demanded. “Crimes,” said Arthur, at the exact same time that both Agnes and Sidney said, “Nothing.”

“You know … fathers aren’t always right just by virtue of being fathers. Or even … just by virtue of being king.”

“Shut up,” Gwen said, surprising both of them. “I’m going to kiss you.” “All right,” Bridget said. “Carry on, then.”

“It’s a letter,” Sidney said, as they stood either side of the small table in their chambers the next day, considering it. “Not a rabid dog.” “It’s a letter from a rabid dog,” Arthur said,

“Get off,” he grunted, unable to defend himself. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” “I don’t care,” Gwen said, smiling at him fondly. “God, I’m so glad you’re still alive to be horrible to me. It won’t last. Get your digs in now, while you’re all pathetic and I feel sorry for you.”

“Arthur,” she said, muffled against him. “Are you crying? Are you crying because you love me, and you’re so pleased to see me?” “Jesus,” Arthur said thickly. “I’m crying because I was just in a bloody battle. It was awful, I hated every second of it and I would not recommend it to a friend. And, yes, I suppose—I suppose I’m also crying because I love you and I’m so pleased to see you. Idiot.”

“To be truly brave, first you must be afraid—and to be afraid, you must have something you cannot bear to lose.”