The knights and Emrys bore Arthur back to his tent. Guards formed an impenetrable human wall of armor and misery while Lila sat with Guinevere and, in the distance, Lancelot dealt with Mordred’s forces.

“I should be helping Emrys dress Arthur,” Guinevere. “I used to dress him before every battle, did you know?” She pawed at her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have to see him like that,” Lila said quietly.

“Have you ever dressed a man for his death?” Guinevere asked.

“No.”

“Arthur always liked a bold girl,” Guinevere said, and Lila started, surprised by the abrupt change of topic, but then she looked at Guinevere and saw something akin to sympathy in her eyes.

“It was why he liked me, at first,” Guinevere said, “despite our marriage being one of politics. You are more bold than any woman I have ever met, more bold than even those witches who spawned Mordred.”

“My Queen –”

“I’m not your queen.”

“I don’t know what else to call you.”

“Jenny will do.” She gazed into the distance where Lancelot paced the ranks.