Page 10 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

She awoke the next morning, surrounded by the smell of him. The smell of lumber and smoke, of leather and sweat. She reached for him, for the warmth that he offered. But the bed beside her was cold.

Guinevere sat up, looking around her chambers. The sun filtered in the windows, but her room was otherwise empty. “Lance?” She called into the morning air. That was when she realized she was still cocooned in his cloak, the aged leather soft in her hands.

The orphanage .

Pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders, she nestled back into her bed. With a soft smile on her face, she allowed herself, once again, to pretend.

But a knock on her door cut her daydreams short.

She rose, debating for a moment whether she should discard the cloak before opening the door — just to quell any rumors.

She decided against it.

A young maid stood on the other side of the door with her breakfast. “Good morning m’lady.” The girl said with a bow.

“You’re new.” Gwen opened the door with a smile. “Welcome to Camelot.”

The girl did not answer, simply bowed her head low and set the tray of food on the table, scurrying from the room quickly after.

“Strange…” she mused, trying to place the girl. Guinevere did her best to be as kind to her handmaidens as she could be…

Her bones still ached with exhaustion, and she craved the comfort of her bed. As she went to slip back under the covers, another knock came at her door, this one harder.

With a quiet groan, she opened the door again, greeted this time by her knight. “Good morning, your grace,” Lancelot said with a grin, quirking an eyebrow as he noticed his cloak tightly wrapped around her. “Did you sleep well?”

Her face felt warm as she turned her back to him. “Come in,” she muttered, going towards the window, hoping he wouldn’t catch the flush across her cheeks.

“Did you eat?” she heard him ask, closer now. Gwen turned her head a tad. He was standing by her tray of food, arms crossed.

“No. I was going to, I just -” She stopped, scrunching her nose as she looked for the right words. “I didn’t recognize the maid that brought my food.”

“Paranoid, your grace?” He teased, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit of truth in his lilt. He lifted the goblet to his lips, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Until his entire face turned sour. “Who brought this to you?” He asked, setting the cup down. “Have you had any of it?” He moved so quickly, his hands were on her shoulders, clutching tightly to her. “Guinevere, how much did you have?”

“N-none,” she stuttered, trembling under the weight of his stare.

“Thank God.” He breathed, but he did not relinquish his grip on her.

She blinked up at him, wide eyed, “Lance… What was it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped back just enough to grab the goblet, sniffing it again before pouring the contents into the washbasin by her bed.

The liquid hissed faintly as it met the metal.

“I don’t know.” His voice shook with a barely restrained fury.

“But I’ve trained with poisons. It was many years ago, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone tampered with your wine.

A chill licked up her spine that had nothing to do with the morning air. Her mouth suddenly dry, stomach threatening to heave. The knight turned to face her once more. “I need you to stay here. I’m going to fetch Arthur and the court physician. Eat nothing, let no one else in.”

“Please don’t go.” Her voice was suddenly small.

He froze.

“Gwen.” his hands were shaking. “I have to.”

She nodded, but the tears were already spilling down her cheeks. “Just for a moment, please, Lance.” Her inkling, her intuition had been correct.

Poison .

She felt foolish as she trembled. Emotions running high as she began to wrap her mind around what happened. Someone had tried to poison her.

He stepped forward again, pulling her against him. He held her tight in his arms, holding the pieces of her together before she had the chance to fully fall apart. “You’re safe.” He said, though his usual confidence seemed missing. “I swear it.”

“I believe you,” she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, fingers clenching tight to him.

He pulled back, gently cradling her face in his hands. “I’ll be back before the sun shifts. Lock the door behind me.”

His lips were warm when he pressed them against her forehead, the final straw that caused her to break down.

She nodded, swiping the tears from her cheeks as he turned his back to her.

“Hide the cloak,” he nodded towards the cloth she was still wrapped up in.

“Highly improper,” and with a wink, he shut the door behind him.

A blush crept up her neck as she locked the door after him. Quickly, she took off the cloak and stuffed it under her pillows, certain no one would check there.

Feeling instantly cold, she wrapped herself up in a shawl and perched herself at the end of her bed, eyes glued to the tray of food.

Poison?

She had been queen for several years now. She and Arthur had wed when she had turned nineteen. She was, by no means, the perfect queen — but poison?

Her heart lurched as she thought about the young girl who brought her food, praying she wouldn’t be punished. Gwen sincerely did not think that a child would be the one to poison the queen.

But then… who?

Her thoughts were a mess inside her brain, her pulse racing faster with each moment that passed.

Had they tried before?

How could she trust food from anyone’s hands again?

Another knock on the door, and Guinevere nearly jumped out of her skin. “Open the door, wife.” Her husband’s voice came from the other side. “It’s just me. Let me in.”

But… she couldn’t.

Arthur was her husband, the king of Camelot. But she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t him that had planted the poison.

What a foolish thought — she immediately chided herself for thinking that he could be behind this. Although he was far from a kind and gentle husband, even Arthur would understand the public perception that would follow if his queen were to die from a poisoned drink.

He might be cruel, but he wasn’t stupid.

So why wouldn’t her feet move?

Why wouldn’t she let him in?

“Open the door, Guinevere.” His voice came again, a little more urgently this time. “Let your husband in.” He pounded on the wood.

“Not yet,” she managed, fighting back the tears, the fear.

He rapped on the door again, louder, angrier. “I won’t ask again, wife.” His voice rose, words clipped.

“Your grace,” another voice, his voice. “Let us in. Arthur is here. I have fetched the physician.”

And just like that, the fear melted away. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, he would protect her.

Protective to a fault. That’s how Morgana had described him.

She rose, feet carrying her to the door. She slid the latch from its place, cracking the door slightly.

Arthur’s hands were on her before she had processed his presence. Cupping her face, running through her hair, crushing her against him. “I was so worried. Lancelot says there’s been an attempt on your life?” And in his eyes, perhaps she saw genuine concern.

She didn’t react to his touch, her frame still trembling. Her eyes, however, did flick to Lancelot, standing quietly in the background, hand on his sword. “Brother, give her some space.” He finally said, voice cutting through the tension in the air .

Arthur cut his eyes to the knight. “She is my wife. She is the Queen of Camelot. I am allowed to touch her.”

“Yes, of course. But she has just had an attempt on her life, Arthur.” Lance stepped forward, putting his hand on the king’s shoulder. “She is shaken, give her space to breathe.”

The physician cleared his throat. “Ma’am, did you consume any of the food delivered?”

Guinevere shook her head, unable to find her voice.

“Drink any of the wine?”

Another shake.

“I am not needed, your grace.” He bowed towards where the royal couple stood. “She will need rest to recover from this fright, but she will not fall ill.”

On his way out, the older man clapped Lancelot on the shoulder. “Good job, boy. No one remembers to call the physician when poison is in play.”

A smile played on the edge of Gwen’s lips, breath shaky, but coming stronger now.

“You must leave.” Arthur said suddenly, pacing the room.

“What?” She finally spoke, brows furrowed as she found her footing. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Someone has their sights set on you, Guinevere.” His words hung heavy in the air, thick with the unspoken threat. “You’ll leave tonight.”

“Arthur please-”

“This is not up for debate. This is not punishment, not an exile. This is protection.” He turned to Lancelot, who was waiting for his turn to speak. “You’ll go with her. ”

The knight nodded. “And if they follow?”

“Then you kill them.”

“Don’t I get a say in the matter?” Gwen tried her best not to shout, but anger was rising in her chest.

“No.” Both men answered in unison.

“This is not for discussion. You tell no one you are leaving. You take one horse, and you ride south.” Arthur slipped so easily into diplomacy. “Du Lac, you are not to let her out of your sight, no matter what. ”

“Arthur!”

He had her in his arms in a matter of steps, kissing her gently. “I do not wish to send you away, wife. But as of this moment, the only person I trust to be around you is your knight.” He took a step back, and she tried to soothe the angry glare she knew she was wearing.

And with that - he left the room, clapping his oldest friend on the shoulder and with a nod, he disappeared.

“Pack a bag,” Lancelot said softly, keeping his distance.

She felt like collapsing onto her bed. “I don’t want to leave.” She whispered through her tears once more.

“It’s safest, Gwen.”

“This is my home.”

“It won’t be permanent.”

“I won’t go.”

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to, your grace.”

Exasperated, Gwen clenched her fists at her side, fighting for an iota of control. “You’re dismissed, knight.” Her jaw was so tight it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.