Goddess of Legend by P. C. Cast

would most enjoy to travel to Dumont some day. It must be a happy place.”
    How the hell would she know? “Laughter is the best medicine,” she said, then nearly groaned. Platitudes were pouring out of her mouth at an alarming rate. Some shrink she’d make. “You and the queen are welcome at my castle anytime.”
    His eyes clouded, which reminded her of what they’d just been discussing.
    She grabbed his hand. “My apologies, Arthur. You and your men are also welcome anytime. You can do the bachelor thing.”
    “The ba—”
    “Never mind. What I mean to say is that my doors are always open to you.” Did she have doors to open?
    She swallowed another groan. Shoot me now before I choke on my own slippered foot.
    “I thank you for the offer of hospitality. And shall most definitely take you up on your kind invitation one day.”
    They stared at each other for several heartbeats. During those silent seconds, Isabel knew exactly which road she was going to travel. Heaven help her.
    She let go of his hand—albeit reluctantly. “Now before we retire, you have yet to answer my question, Arthur.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “MY apologies, “MIsabel. I have forgotten the question.”
    So had she.
    And I quote. “Wow. Does she happen to be aware of that little bylaw?” Thanks, Viviane!
    “I believe I asked if Gwen is guilty of this indiscretion, is she aware of the consequences of her actions?”
    “What saddens me is that she is. And she is willing to risk this. As is Lancelot.”
    “Doesn’t seem like true love to me if Lancelot is willing to put Gwen in that kind of danger.”
    “I believe they cannot help how they feel. I am understanding it more and more with every moment I am in your company. There is a phrase my mother told to me as a kidling. ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ I can no more direct the wants of Gwen’s heart as I can explain how I managed to remove Excalibur. As I cannot explain this . . . feeling for you.”
    Isabel wasn’t just flattered, she was on fire. Or, at least, her hormones were. But even as she knew the path she’d chosen, she had to play devil’s advocate. Because adultery went against her fast-and-loose moral code. “Arthur, is it possible that this is a retaliation of sorts? Are you playing tit for tat? To hurt her as she’s hurt you?”
    “I know not of the tit-for-tat thing, but I understand retaliation. Should that have been the case, I would have chosen to take up with any number of women long afore now. ’Tis not in my nature to even events this way.”
    Isabel knew this. She didn’t know how, but she did. Arthur wouldn’t jump into the sheets, or in this case bed furs, with another just to get back at his cheating wife. He could even have gone further, were he a vengeful jerk. He could have exposed Gwen at any moment, have her judged, found guilty and killed. Instead, he continued to protect her, no matter how much it hurt him, day in and out.
    “You still love her very much,” Isabel said softly.
    “That I do. But not as afore. Not in the same way. ’Tis not easy to look at your wife, play the dutiful and loving husband, when you know that she yearns for another.”
    Isabel suddenly realized that she was totally sober, even after the delicious cognac. Her earlier overindulgence was gone, her mind clear. Which should have made her earlier clouded judgment return to practical reality. And yet she still wanted that one kiss, and she wasn’t drunkenly falling in temporary love.
    Permanent lust was already a given.
    She was falling, hard, but with a completely clear understanding of what this all meant. Well, shit. She had to fall back in time centuries to find the one? Fate wasn’t necessarily cruel, but it had a really warped sense of humor.
    “Is there no such thing as divorce in Camelot?”
    “Divorce?”
    “Dissolution of marriage? Annulment? Bye-bye?”
    “Between a king and his queen?”
    “Sure! I mean, certainly. In Dumont we allow for bad marriages to