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“What could another woman give me that you cannot?” Lancelot whispered. It was more like a groan.
She sat back on her heels, looking down at him from under slitted lids. “Safety. She would bind your life around with the garlands of comfort and surety. She would keep your hearth and home and fill it with kindness. Your future would be known and beloved, a tale well told and filled with love and laughter. I foresaw this future for you in my gazing crystal, long before you went into the stone sleep. I had hoped you would have found her instead. Perhaps you still can.”
.....
Nim had never felt as alien as she did in that moment, witnessing that bond. She didn’t belong at a wedding, with her empty, silent heart. She set down her glass and slid off the bar stool, suddenly sure she had to escape. All that happiness was just too much to witness.
It was then she saw him. She did a double take, sure it was a perverse trick of memory that summoned the face of Lancelot du Lac, that the wedding atmosphere had stirred the dying embers of old dreams. But then she realized Arthur must have acted on her information. Lancelot had risen from the stone sleep, and was before her in warm, living flesh.
.....
