Ginny and her companions caught up with the dark-clad group even as they reached the outskirts of the village. It was quite big, maybe as big as the village surrounding Warwick castle, Ginny realised as she watched the first tiny wattle and daub dwellings become larger cottages with dark thatched roofs and then, as they reached the only square, tall stone houses.

They waited while the blonde woman walked to an elderly man dressed in blue bards' robes whom they found sitting in a shadowy spot of the square, surrounded by a wide circle of children and old people listening to his harp.

He stopped playing briefly while he accepted the pouch, which the woman passed him, and they exchanged a few words. Then, after sending a smile and a bow in the travellers' direction, he resumed playing, and the woman was back with them.

"Our old bard is the wisest man of the village. He knows who needs the money the most," she explained, looking at Ginny. "And now let us take you to our inn; I'm sure you are ready for a bath, dinner and a proper bed... How long have you been on the road?"

"Not too long, no more than three days. But I won't refuse a bath," Ginny replied, jumping off her horse and walking at the woman's side up a narrow, winding lane, leaving the square behind.

"Here we are. This is our home. Welcome," the woman said when they stopped in front of one of the cottages lining the lane on both sides. "I'm Iseabail, and this is my husband Andrew and the boys... are boys," she trailed off, shaking her head and smiling, noticing only now that her sons had remained in the square.

"I'm Gwendolyn," Ginny said as she followed Iseabail inside. She left the men with Andrew to take care of the horses and introduce themselves, knowing that the prince might not appreciate it if she disclosed his identity.

Iseabail led her across a spacious, dim room full of tables and chairs, towards a long wooden top laden with jugs, bottles, cups, plates, and trays.

"Morag!" Iseabail called through a door opening into the kitchen, "We have guests!"

A moment later, a tall and lanky girl as blonde as Iseabail joined them.

"This is my only daughter, Morag. She is sixteen, I guess you are not much older yourself, Gwendolyn?"

Ginny smiled, "I'm seventeen."

Morag looked between her and the three men who had just entered the inn admiringly. "Are you... travelling with them? Alone?"

Ginny nodded and opened her mouth, but Iseabail did not let her reply. "Don't you get any ideas, Morag, your place is here. You are too young for such adventures."

"But so is she..." Morag protested.

"I'm sure that Gwendolyn has good reasons for what she is doing. Now take her upstairs, show her the small room, it's ready. Then prepare the one opposite of hers for her companions," Iseabail instructed her daughter, then turned to Ginny, "I'm afraid they'll have to share it. All the other rooms are taken."

Ginny shrugged; she didn't think they would mind sharing a room with proper beds after spending the last night under the tent.

While Ginny followed Morag up a wooden staircase creaking under each step they took, Iseabail took her black cloak off and started filling one of the jugs with ale for the guests.

When Garreth knocked on her door an hour later, when he remembered to bring her her saddle bag, Ginny was washed, dressed in a dove grey, simple, linen gown Iseabail obliged her to accept when she heard that Ginny only brought male clothes for the journey, and her loose hair was drying up by the fire.

Morag, who had stayed with her most of the time, listening to her or chatting cheerfully herself, went to open the door and took the bag from Garreth.

"Are you Morag?" he asked the girl. "Your mother told me to send you downstairs, she needs your help with the dinner."

"Oh... I forgot completely," Morag sighed, placing the bag at the foot of Ginny's bed. "I'll see you later then, Gwendolyn." She smiled at her new friend and scurried out of the room.

"You should come downstairs, too. Lancelot has been pestering me with questions about you, and there is not much I can tell him, right? So get down there and deal with your knight yourself. But Ginny... I can see you falling for him," he said, laying his hand on her cheek, which flushed at the mere mention of Sir Lancelot. "And what about Arthur? Your wedding... See, he is such a kind man..."

"I don't want to think about Prince Arthur this week, Garreth. Please," she said, pulling him in an embrace. "Let us go down if you are ready." She smoothed out the folds of his clean velvet jacket, as green as her eyes, then adjusted a stray lock of his reddish-brown hair.

He could reprove her about Sir Lancelot as much as he liked, but if she wanted, she could reproach him just as much for his obvious interest in the prince...

As if he could read her thoughts, he said, "Don't start, Ginny. Let's go."

Without a word, the princess accepted his arm, and they walked along the narrow, candle-lit corridor leading to the staircase. She felt Sir Lancelot's eyes on her the moment they reached the top of the stairs, but she couldn't look at him; it took all her concentration to descend the staircase, her bare feet slipping in the borrowed clogs.

As they reached the last step, the knight was at her side, taking her off Garreth's arm.

"You look... different, Lady Gwendolyn," he murmured, his eyes abandoning her bare ankles visible beneath the hem of her gown as she walked, for her slim waist, the tightly laced bodice of her dress, her flushed cheeks and her russet hair, so long, thick and smooth like velvet; his hand itching to touch it...

The girl was gorgeous and apparently unaware of the effect she had on men... The knight scanned the room surrounding them quickly, noticing how the men's voices hushed even as their heads raised from their cups, cards, and dice as she descended the stairs... Who and why made her wear this dress?!

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, wishing he would... touch her; feeling he wished to, knowing he would not, could not, not here in this room full of people. She took a deep, shaky breath, scolding herself for her wayward thoughts. She mustn't think of him this way.

Meeting his eyes again, she replied, "You look different yourself, Sir Lancelot." Dressed in a midnight blue velvet jacket similar in style to Garreth's, he looked even more charming if that was possible, and regal. And, looking around, Ginny realised that she wasn't the only one who noticed-- the eyes of every woman and girl in the room, including Iseabail and Morag, were trained on him.

"Come," he said simply, smiling at her, leading her towards the table where Garreth and Arthur were already seated, side by side.

She accepted the seat on a wooden bench next to him, not protesting in the least when he moved quite close to her, on the contrary, leaning into him even more. Morag came to refill their jug of ale and brought a bottle of wine and a platter of bread and cheese, informing them that she would bring their dinner the moment the meal was cooked.

Ginny shook her head at the ale, but she accepted the wine Lancelot poured for her. The busy inn became even more crowded as the evening progressed, and when their dinner was brought, there was so much noise that they had to raise their voices to talk.

"We will set off at sunrise again. We're already in Wiltshire, and not far from the standing stones. Andrew told me that we will reach the temple easily tomorrow," Garreth said, his cheeks heated by the warm stew and the ale which he and the other two men had been drinking since they arrived.

"That's good, we still have enough time to finish the trip just as we planned," Prince Arthur said, moving closer to Garreth as he reached for the jug to refill his cup.

If only they would... elope together, Ginny thought as she observed them, giggling, nearly spilling her wine. But they would be happy, she was sure, and so would she... She looked up when she felt Lancelot's thigh brushing against hers, meeting his blue gaze, drowning in it...

The princess shook her head, trying to clear it, but it didn't help. She was drawn to this man like a moth to flame. She knew he would burn her newly-grown wings, but she couldn't resist him, she didn't want to...

Music started to play just then, and following it to its source, Ginny found the old bard from the square sitting by the fireplace. He wasn't alone; a second bard, a middle-aged man with a head full of ginger curls like Garreth's, sat on a stool next to him, a small harp on his lap.

"He looks like Myrddin, the way I saw him in my dream," Garreth said distractedly, "what does it mean?"