Free Believe by Victoria Alexander

scrambled after him. Was a wife a forbidden topic as well?
    “So, um, this is Camelot, huh?”
    “No.”
    “But I thought—”
    “Come.”
    He strode toward the wall and the nearest tower; she struggled to match her shorter stride to his. Galahad pushed open a heavy wooden door and stepped inside. A spiral stone staircase stretched upward. He took the stairs two at a time.
    “Hey, wait up.” She panted up the stairs. Damn. If she’d used her Nordic Track more for exercise and less for hanging her laundry she wouldn’t be in this shape. She reached the top and stepped through the open doorway. “So, what are we doing here anyway?”
    “You wished to see Camelot.” On the side of the five-foot-wide walkway he stood on, the wall facing the castle reached to about his waist. The outer wall was a few inches taller than Galahad with gaps at regular intervals stretching nearly a third of the way down. Crenelated. The word popped into her head. If she remembered right, it was what made a basic fortified mansion a true castle. “See for yourself.”
    She stepped forward and gazed through a gap to the scene beyond the walls and gasped.
    “Wow.” The setting laid out before her took her breath away “It’s gorgeous.” The castle stood a bit higher than the surrounding lands and the ground rolled away beyond the walls a short distance to a fairly good sized village. On the other side of the castle, a meadow stretched to a forest with only a single small tree to break the expanse. Gentle hills and valleys lay beyond the town. Sheep dotted the pastures. The grass was so green it might have been painted, likefaded AstroTurf revitalized for a new football season. The sky was the color of a pale sapphire. A few lazy clouds drifted across the blue expanse as if to punctuate nature’s perfection. “Spring,” she said under her breath.
    “That, my lady, is Camelot. This is the king’s castle and the center of his rule and his power, but Camelot itself is not Arthur alone nor is it this fortress. ’Tis the king and his people who make up Camelot.”
    She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the sight. “It’s so, I don’t know, perfect. Peaceful. But of course it would be.”
    “Would it?” he said softly.
    Tessa drew a deep breath and stared at the landscape. “I made it up. I made you up. It’s not real. None of it.”
    “Tessa.” He cupped her chin in his hand and raised her gaze to his. “I am reasonably certain you are not mad. Yet your words make no sense.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her back toward the view. “What you see now is not perfect but it is indeed peaceful for the moment. Arthur has—”
    “I know the story.” Impatience edged her voice. “Arthur pulled all the battling factions of England together, united under one king.”
    He nodded. “’Twas when I was little more than a lad.”
    “I don’t know it as well as I should. I should have done more research but I really hated that class,” the fear she had battled all day crept closer, “and this legend and this era—”
    “Tessa,” he said sharply as if he sensed the panic growing within her, “’tis the magic. You cannot acceptwhat is real and what is not because of Merlin’s magic. ’Tis nothing more than that. I have heard it said, oft-times, for some, it leaves a veil of enchantment on those who are touched by it.”
    “Get off it. I don’t believe in magic.” Her voice rose.
    “Believe as you will. ’Tis naught save the truth.”
    “It’s not the truth. It’s a fairy tale. A dream. And I don’t believe it. Any of it. Not Arthur, not Camelot—” Damn. She was losing it. “Not you.”
    “Tessa.” His brow furrowed with concern and he stepped toward her.
    “Don’t come near me!” She thrust her hand out in front of her. If he touched her now, she’d be lost. He’d be solid and warm and real and she’d know what she already knew. What she couldn’t deny. What scared the hell out of