"Think not because you are now wed, that all your courtship's at an end." -Antonio Hurtado de Mendoza

-Prologue-

"It's settled then," Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, says, leaning back in his chair. He nods at King Thomas Leodegrance, King of Cameliard, across the table before glancing over at Thomas' scribe, finishing the contract.

"I had hoped that Eleanor could have remained for the entire negotiation," Thomas says. His wife had to leave to attend their newborn son, Prince Elyan, and after she left, Uther started hitting harder with the demands. As Thomas watches the scribe, he begins wondering if meeting most of these terms without much argument was the right thing to do. We need this alliance. We need the aid of Camelot's army. We need safe passage through his kingdom. All I have to offer is our port and my only daughter. He looks over at his precious, chubby two-year-old girl, sitting on a blanket on the floor, surrounded by toys. She is quietly playing with blocks while being watched over by her nursemaid and ignored by the rambunctious blonde three-year-old prince who is running about with a wooden sword and being a general nuisance.

"Arthur!" his nursemaid calls again, and is unheeded again. "Please come over here and sit," she cajoles.

"Not 'till I slay the dragon!" he answers, charging at one of the guards, who deftly dodges just in time to avoid having his most valued and sensitive parts attacked by a speeding toddler with a blunt instrument.

The scribe clears his throat, and the two kings give him their attention. "'Camelot gains exclusive use to three of Cameliard's ten docks in its port and Cameliard is guaranteed safe passage through Camelot.'" he reads the last of the terms. The kings nod and he continues. "'To seal these terms, Prince Arthur and Princess Guinevere will be joined in marriage within one year of the prince's eighteenth birthday,'" he concludes. "Is there anything else you would like me to add, my lords?"

"I do not think so," Uther answers, then looks at Thomas.

"Seventeen is rather young to be married," Thomas says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Igraine was barely sixteen when we were wed," Uther comments. "And wasn't Eleanor about that age as well?"

"Well, yes, but… that was then. And this is my daughter," Thomas counters. Uther raises an eyebrow. "I'm merely wondering if we could… delay it, say, two more years?"

"To what end? To allow you to continue doting on her? Seventeen is a perfectly reasonable age for a girl to marry," Uther says. "If you still feel hesitant, I'm sure King Rodor would be more than happy—"

"Very well," Thomas says, beginning to dislike the manipulative Uther a bit more as each minute passes. I hope the boy's resemblance to his mother goes deeper than just his looks. He seems to be quite bright. Just a tad boisterous is all. Most boys are at that age though…

"Thomas," Uther says. "Are you still with us?" He slides the parchment across the table for him to sign.

"Yes… yes, of course," he answers, taking the quill. He signs, then pours a blob of soft wax on the page and presses his ring into it.

There is a crash as Arthur charges an empty chair, toppling it.

"Arthur," his father sharply calls, and the boy immediately stops. "We are nearly done, and you've given everyone in this hall a headache. Sit down and be quiet."

The young prince slumps. "Yes, Father." He trudges over to his nursemaid and plops down on the bench next to her, swinging his feet.

"You should play with Princess Guinevere," the nursemaid suggests. "Isn't she a pretty little girl? And so quiet."

"No," Arthur answers. "Girls are boring. She's a boring baby."

-15 Years Later-

Princess Guinevere has been silent for most of the journey to Camelot. It isn't a particularly long journey, less than a day's ride, but it feels like she's been riding for an entire week.

Riding to her own wedding. To a man she has never met. A man she has never seen. But a man about whom she already knows almost everything. Uther saw to that much, but never saw fit to have them actually meet.

"Nearly there, Gwen," Elyan excitedly says. He's been looking forward to the trip; his first official visit to another kingdom as Crown Prince. Guinevere is older, but the laws of Cameliard state that only a male heir can succeed the throne. Hence the marriage alliance made with Camelot so soon after Elyan's birth.

Guinevere always wondered why her father couldn't just change the laws. Wondered what good it was being King if he is unable to change unfair laws and nonsensical traditions.

She wonders these things, but keeps her mouth closed, reminding herself that it is not her place to question.

"How much longer?" she asks her brother.

"Um… oh, look! You can see the towers of the castle!" he answers, pointing over the treetops.

She looks up and sees the brilliant white stone peeking out from between the leaves. A few minutes later, they emerge in a clearing, and the castle looms before them, a beautiful but intimidating fortress gleaming in the sunlight. Red and gold flags wave in the breeze, and a large banner embroidered with a dragon gently flaps against the side of a long wall.

Princess Guinevere realizes she is terrified.

"I do hope you will be happy here," her father says, pulling his horse alongside hers. "I know I wasn't always the best father, but I did my best to give you a happy childhood. I hope I did your mother proud." He gives her a sad smile, the smile he always wears when he thinks of his late wife, gone nearly thirteen years now.

"I know you did, Papa," she says, managing a smile for him. "I'm just nervous."

"I'd be worried if you weren't," he replies. "If it helps, I have heard many good things about Prince Arthur. He's supposedly very handsome."

"I'm more worried about how he behaves than how he looks," she says. "If he is kind, then it doesn't matter if he's ugly."

"I suppose telling you he is a skilled swordsman and the finest knight Camelot has ever seen doesn't really help much, does it?" King Thomas says with a sigh. Those are the only two things he knows to be absolutely true about the young prince, because everyone he encounters who has met the prince says so.

"Not really. But if he is a knight, he will be chivalrous. Won't he?" she asks.

"I certainly hope so," he answers. "Put a smile on that pretty face, my daughter," he adds, smiling himself to encourage her. "We are about to enter the town, and this will be the first – and perhaps only – glimpse some of the subjects will get of their future queen."

Guinevere is a princess. She knows the importance of putting on a good appearance for the sake of the kingdom. So she sits taller in her saddle, smiles brightly, and follows her father into the lower town with her brother and a small retinue of knights following behind them. As she looks around, she feels her smile becoming genuine as people look up from their tasks to watch them pass. An old woman toothlessly grins, clearly happy with her king's choice in a wife for their prince. Small children wave at her, and she waves back. One little girl runs up and gives her a slightly bent daisy before hurrying away.

Guinevere makes sure the girl sees her tuck the daisy into her hair. The girl's eyes widen and she beams brightly, overjoyed that she should be so honored.

"It seems they love you already," Elyan says as they approach the gates to the courtyard.

"While that is reassuring, it is only the beginning," she answers, taking a deep breath before riding through the gates.

xXx

Guinevere imagines she can hear the revelry going on below, somewhere in the castle. Revelry taking place without her. The men are eating, drinking, and otherwise carrying on while Guinevere is sequestered in her rooms. Temporary rooms at that.

Prince Arthur has requested that they share quarters, which came as a surprise to both Guinevere and her father, who had expected that she would have, at the very least, adjoining rooms to the prince.

But until tomorrow, she is to stay in this room. Alone, save her maid.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere," her father had said. "It is their tradition."

She is beginning to hate that word. There are several traditions with which she has become less than thrilled. The no-women-heirs tradition in her homeland. This no-women-allowed-to-the-party tradition. She won't be able to see Arthur at all until the wedding, which is a tradition in nearly every kingdom, but usually it only means on the day of the ceremony.

She sits heavily in a chair, looking over at her wedding dress. I won't even really get to see him until the end of the ceremony. That's another troubling tradition: She will have to wear a veil that only allows her to see enough to not bump into things when she walks. So she won't even see Arthur until he lifts it at the end. To kiss her.

I suppose it is a small consolation that he will have to marry me without first seeing me as well, she reasons, closing her eyes and trying for the thousandth time to remember back to the one time they did meet.

Nothing. She was only two. There is no way she can remember any of that day. Her father has told her that she would be less than thrilled if she did remember the three-year-old Arthur Pendragon and it is probably better that she not, saying, "You remember Elyan when he was three? Same thing."

She reaches over and takes the veil, carelessly throwing it over her head to determine how much she can see.

It's not very encouraging.

xXx

Later that night, Arthur lies awake in his bed. He didn't drink excessively, much to the chagrin of his father and several of the older knights. He didn't want to feel hungover for his wedding. He saw King Thomas' small nod of approval when he refused a third refill, so he knows he made the correct choice. And he feels like he owes his future bride that much at least.

Not that he knows much about her. He has only a very vague memory of a baby with wild dark hair sitting on a blanket. He remembers he had his toy sword along, so that means he very likely ignored her. Even if he had played with her then, it wouldn't be any help now.

Young Elyan is handsome enough, so that is some consolation. And I remember Queen Eleanor being quite beautiful… I think. But Thomas is a good man, and he assured me that Guinevere is intelligent and beautiful. I do not believe he would deliberately mislead me.

He rolls over onto his side. Of course, fathers always think their daughters are beautiful, don't they?

Arthur has known all his life that he is to marry Princess Guinevere. When he asked his father about the possibility of actually meeting her a few times before they married, Uther always dismissed it, saying, "You'll have your whole life to get to know each other. Besides, you can't say no to this marriage, so what does it matter if you meet at the wedding or before? A contract was signed, and that contract will be honored."

Despite being promised to this woman since he was three years old, Arthur still had a couple of dalliances. When he was 16, the knights decided he needed to become a man, found him a willing young maid, shut them in one of the stables together, and told him not to come out until he was one.

The next year, King Godwin and his daughter Princess Elena came for a visit, and Arthur and Elena spent an afternoon together figuring a few things out about their bodies. They both knew better than to have any long term expectations, but wanted to learn and, after half a bottle of wine they snuck out, passed a few hours in the forest quite pleasurably. Without taking the princess' maidenhead. They were curious; they were not fools.

Arthur realizes he's more worried about Guinevere being a nitwit or a shrew than being beautiful. This is the woman with whom I am to spend the rest of my life. I will grow accustomed to her looks, whatever they may be, but if she is unkind or stupid, that would be much more difficult with which to live.

Morgana once told him that she has heard that Princess Guinevere is quite pretty. Not beautiful, but "quite pretty." Arthur trusts his cousin more than his father, and took some small comfort in that. Unfortunately, she was unable to provide any more information on the reclusive princess. Arthur isn't sure if she is reclusive or simply sheltered by her father, but figures he'll learn soon enough.

I don't recall ever hearing anything bad about her, he realizes, thinking about how Princess Vivian is reputed to be gorgeous but ridiculously spoiled. Even his cousin, Lady Morgana Du Bois, while very beautiful, has quite a temper if she is crossed. Her father, Lord Agravaine, even (grudgingly) allowed her to train with the knights for a while, thinking it would be a way to channel her aggression, but all it accomplished was making her even more dangerous when angry.

Lord Agravaine has yet to find a husband for his 20-year-old daughter, and Arthur suspects that Morgana is intentionally preventing this from happening.

Some days, he doesn't blame her. Tomorrow he is to be married to a woman he barely remembers meeting once, 15 years ago.

He closes his eyes, trying to recall the toddler sitting on the blanket with the blocks that day. He remembers the purple blanket. He remembers the blocks. He remembers her hair, all corkscrew curls.

Her face eludes him. I'll find out soon enough.

xXx

"Stop fidgeting, Arthur," Uther snaps under his breath from his place beside his son at the front of the hall.

"You'll have to pardon me for being a trifle anxious, Father," Arthur retorts. "It's not every day one is being forced to marry a woman he doesn't know."

Uther heaves an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh. "Oh yes, poor little prince. Have you forgotten that I married your mother under these same circumstances nearly 20 years ago?"

"No, I haven't," Arthur answers, his voice a little louder. "Would it have killed you to arrange even one meeting? Or, I don't know, have her marry me without her face covered?"

"Lower your voice," Uther grits through clenched teeth. "And the veil is a long-standing tradition of this kingdom."

"It's a stupid tradition," Arthur mutters.

"Nevertheless," Uther unhelpfully replies just before the doors open.

Arthur's first thought on seeing her is She is short. Her height doesn't matter to him; it is simply the first thing that came to his mind, seeing her on King Thomas' arm. Arthur watches intently, trying to see her face through the heavy lace veil. He can make out the darkness of her hair and that's about it. Her hand on her father's arm is slender and long-fingered, her skin the same warm tan as Thomas'. He takes a moment to assess the rest of her and cannot help being pleased to note that she has a slender waist and nicely rounded hips. The veil hangs to the middle of her torso, so that's about all he can see.

Guinevere keeps blinking and squinting as she walks forward, even though she already learned that trying to see anything at all is pointless. She has to almost totally rely on her father to keep her headed in the right direction. She can see three silhouettes at the front of the hall that are vaguely man-shaped. She can only guess at which one is Arthur.

As they reach the front, she learns she was correct. The one on her left is the man officiating the ceremony, and the one on the far right is Uther, which she only knows because he steps over and clasps arms with her father. Leaving the tall, slender figure in the middle as her future husband.

The officiant says some words, her father answers him, then takes both of her hands. "I love you, Guinevere," he whispers. Then he gives her hands a light squeeze and places her right hand in Arthur's left before stepping back to stand beside Uther in the front row.

His hand is large and warm, and she feels strangely comforted having hers held in it. She looks up at him, but he is too obscured for her to see anything helpful. I think his hair is blonde is the last thought she has before she has to speak her words.

Arthur has trouble concentrating on the ceremony. He is distracted trying to see through her veil. Distracted by the softness of her hands. Distracted by her sweet scent. And when she speaks, he is distracted by the soft melody of her voice.

"Prince Arthur…" Geoffrey says, and his tone suggests this is his second prompt.

Arthur turns his head towards the older man and nods, indicating he is paying attention now. He dutifully repeats his words, then watches as a garland is wrapped around their joined hands.

Geoffrey speaks the final statements, then finishes with, "It is time to seal this union with a kiss." Then he removes the garland and nods at the prince.

Arthur slowly lifts the veil, willing his hands to be still and chiding himself for needing to do so. The first thing he sees is a pair of pink lips that appear to have been crafted expressly for kissing, and he swallows hard as the rest of her face comes into view. Her pert nose dotted with freckles appears, then her translucent brown eyes surrounded by long lashes, set at a slight angle beneath a smooth forehead.

She is beautiful. The thought springs unbidden, even catching him by surprise. As he stares down into her upturned face, his world shifts. Women he previously thought of as the great beauties of the five kingdoms – Princess Vivian, Princess Mithian, Princess Elena, even Lady Morgana – seem pale and uninteresting, even ordinary. Morgana is considered the standard of beauty throughout Camelot, with her flawless alabaster skin, flowing raven hair, and green eyes. Arthur knows that if she weren't his cousin, he would very likely be marrying her today instead of the petite, tawny-skinned nymph before him. Guinevere is special. Guinevere is unique.

And Guinevere is his, which somehow makes her even more beautiful. And judging by the flush rising in her cheeks and the way she's staring up at him, she is as pleased with his appearance as he is with hers.

For her part, Guinevere didn't have the advantage Arthur had. He got to see her face bit by bit; she simply looked up and there he was. He is more handsome than she could have imagined, staring down at her like she was a priceless jewel. This man is my husband? His hair looks like spun gold, and his eyes like a stormy sky, blue and gray at the same time. She has heard talk of the handsome Prince Arthur, but always assumed it was the standard empty flattery one heaps on royalty. All Princesses are called beautiful even if they are toads; all Princes are dashingly handsome even if they are pigs.

Arthur is no pig. At least not physically, she reminds herself, knowing he could still be ugly on the inside. She shyly looks up at him again and something in his eyes tells her he is not. His entire expression is open, as though he is sharing his entire soul with her in this moment. She thinks it might feel more intimate than what they will be doing later that night, but she's not sure.

Guinevere is surprised to discover she actually wants him to kiss her. His lips are full for a man, and she has to consciously stop her hand from lifting to touch them. To make certain he is real. That she is not dreaming. But she must be dreaming, because there is no way he can be as beautiful as he is.

Her lips part and his gaze drops to them for a moment as he seems to remember what he is supposed to do next. They don't know how long they've been staring at one another, but Geoffrey politely clears his throat a second later.

Arthur takes her hands in his again, then leans down towards her. Guinevere automatically tilts her face up for him

His lips softly press against hers and her eyes flutter closed, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. She's never been kissed before, and marvels at the sensations such a simple act is causing in her body.

Arthur gently pulls away, needing to stop himself before he makes a spectacle of them both. The moment his lips touched hers, he was lost. His initial assessment of her lips – that they were crafted expressly for kissing – proves correct, but he immediately amends it to "crafted expressly to be kissed by me and no one else". He wanted nothing more than to spend the next ten minutes exploring the soft sweetness of her mouth, but propriety won out and he managed to pull away before encouraging her lips to part so he could do just that.

Geoffrey makes another announcement that neither Arthur nor Guinevere hear, and when the crowd erupts in applause, they begin walking back up the center aisle.

Instead of placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Arthur holds her hand as they walk. He wonders if he has just defied another silly tradition by doing so. A small part of him hopes he has.

Outside in the corridor, they have just a few moments' quiet. They are supposed to head to the feast, but Arthur looks around a moment before tugging Guinevere into an alcove out of sight.

"Hello," he whispers, giving her a bashful smile.

"My lord," she answers, curtseying and returning his smile.

He watches her small, graceful movements, trying not to let his eyes linger at her cleavage for too long. "You are beautiful," he blurts.

"Thank you," she answers. "I am happy my appearance is pleasing to you."

"It definitely is," he replies, lifting her hand and kissing it. His thumb absently strokes the gold ring he placed there a short time ago. "Is… is my appearance pleasing to you?" he shyly asks.

She blinks, unprepared for this question. He wants to know what I think of him? "Um… yes," she answers. Then, "Yes, very much so." She holds his gaze for a moment before looking down, her cheeks turning a dusky pink.

"Arthur," Uther calls, a short distance away, clearly annoyed at his missing son.

"I just wanted to take a moment alone with you to talk to only you before we have to go to the feast," he quickly explains. "I… I hope you will be happy here, and I will try my hardest to be a good husband to you."

Guinevere is growing more and more confused. He's not acting at all like she was told to expect. "I… I am honored to be your wife, my lord, and I hope I will please you," she says, trying to not sound too much like she is speaking a rehearsed sentence.

"I'm sure you will," he says with a smile. "And please, call me—"

"Arthur!" Uther repeats, louder now.

Arthur glances away, then leans down and gives her a quick peck on the lips before saying, "I guess we'll have to talk more later," and pulling her back out into the open.

"There you are," Uther says, frowning. "The people are waiting."

"Sorry, Father. I merely wished to have a moment alone with my wife before we have to face the crowds," Arthur replies.

Uther's frown deepens. "Yes, well, you'll have plenty of time for… that… later," he says.

Arthur's mouth opens to protest, but then he decides there's no point and closes it. Uther sweeps away and Arthur gives an apologetic smile to Guinevere before leading her to the feast.

A/N: If you are a fan of the Arranged Marriage trope (like I am), make sure you check out my friend faithlessducks' story "Rules for Marriage".