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“Honestly, Gwen, what did you expect?” Morgana says, somewhat unsympathetically. “Haven’t you been paying attention to any of the media coverage over the last ten years?”
“I know the papers follow him around, it’s not that,” Gwen says, pushing her salad fork around the plate unenthusiastically. The restaurant is trendy, and crowded—when Morgana picks, it always is—and Gwen hates raising her voice, not wanting to be overheard. “It’s just—I wasn’t prepared for what happened at that charity event for the Prince’s Trust.”
Morgana raises one slim brow. “What do you mean?”
“Well—the screaming. Didn’t you hear it?” Gwen asks. At Morgana’s blank look, she rolls her eyes. “Of course not. They were screaming for you, too. They love you nearly as much as they love him.”
Morgana smirks, tossing her hair. “I am London’s resident ‘It Girl,’” she says, affecting a perfect imitation of Lady Vivian, the notorious gossip columnist. “They look to me to set the trends.”
Gwen laughs at her friend’s antics, then sobers. “It was different, being in the middle of it. And Arthur just seemed to eat it up—he actually laughed at that girl who threw a bra at him.”
Morgana puts her hand over Gwen’s. “It comes with the territory. He’s the future King of England, and he looks like a movie star. He didn’t choose this, Gwen, and you know it.”
Gwen sighs, frustrated. “I know he didn’t choose this. But I don’t know how to be with this Arthur. I understand the Arthur who visits soup kitchens and lobbies Parliament on behalf of the poor. I understand the Arthur who worries about the role England plays on the global stage and even the Arthur who’s a captain in the Royal Navy. But I am bewildered by how to be with the Arthur who gets panties thrown at him by screaming…oh, what’s the word? Fangirls.”
Morgana laughs, helplessly, and Gwen glares at her crossly. “You’re no help at all. You’re dating a rock star. When you two go out in public, I’m sure your fans can’t decide whom they’d rather flip out about.”
“Leon’s a reluctant rock star,” Morgana protests. “He’s probably more horrified by it than you are. He thinks fame is taking away from the music.” She snorts, more in amusement than anything else, and then says seriously, “And surely you must know that Arthur doesn’t actually take any of that attention to heart. I mean, really, the only thing he can do is laugh. The alternative, as Leon demonstrates practically every day, is to simply be embarrassed to death by it all, and Arthur is not the type to get embarrassed easily.”
“True,” Gwen concedes, nodding to the waiter who looks skeptically at her half-eaten salad before taking it away. “And I suppose Queen Ygraine counseled him at an early age on how to deal with media attention.”
Morgana nods. “She didn't get the nickname 'Queen of Hearts' by doing nothing. She was a master at manipulating her press coverage to spotlight some cause or another. Arthur did learn from the best.”
“I wonder what she’d make of this,” Gwen muses, “if she were alive today.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’d laugh a lot, and then make him figure out a way to parlay all this attention into some sort of volunteerism. I mean, that is how she used the attention she received. She always said that if they were going to send reporters after her, they could damn well report on the people she was speaking to as well.”
Gwen begins to grin. “I wonder if he could have like, a kissing booth or something. Proceeds going to charity.”
Morgana barks with laughter. “Oh my god. I’m just picturing the queue.”
“Think of the number of fainting spells there would be,” Gwen says, eyes dancing. “They’d need to have paramedics standing by.”
“Think how much chapstick he would need,” Morgana chortles, and Gwen claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear. His lips would be raw.”
“You know, I’m not normally an advocate for my boyfriend making out with other people, but in this case, I think I could make an exception,” Gwen says, making a valiant attempt at a straight face. “For charity.”
“You’re such a good girlfriend,” Morgana agrees, and then they both lose it.
*
“I don’t think that’s very…dignified,” Arthur says doubtfully. Behind him, Merlin’s doubled over, laughing.
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,” Morgana says severely. “It would be for a good cause.”
Arthur looks at Gwen uncertainly. “You’d really be okay with this?”
“It was her idea,” Morgana points out.
“Think of the children,” Gwen adds solemnly, not looking at Merlin, who’s still giggling.
“Well…I’m not sure what my father would say,” Arthur says, desperately grasping at straws. Morgana waves a hand airily.
“Leave him to me. Besides, he’s always in favor of good publicity.”
“Your entire band is participating?” Arthur flicks a look at Leon, who looks pained.
“Yes, all the members of The Round Table will be there.”
Merlin looks at Morgana with respect. “How’d you manage to get them all to agree?”
Morgana merely smiles, catlike. “I have my ways.” Leon blushes, violently.
Arthur looks at his private secretary narrowly. “If I’m doing this, then so are you.”
Merlin yelps. “But—I’m not—no one’s going to want to kiss me!”
Gwen grins at her friend. “Oh, I don’t know, Merlin. I found the experience fairly enjoyable.”
Arthur scowls. Merlin makes a face at Gwen. “I’ll be working overtime for the next week because of that.”
“Anyway,” Morgana says. “It’s decided. I’ll send out a press release next week.”
“A kissing booth,” Arthur says, a little hollowly.
“This is actually all your fault, Arthur,” Morgana tells him. “If your fangirls hadn’t kept throwing their underwear at you, Gwen and I never would have come up with this idea in the first place.”
Arthur looks disgruntled. Merlin and Leon both glare at him. Morgana links arms with Gwen and sweeps, with great dignity, from the room.