Page 13 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

The sun still hung in the sky when she opened her eyes.

Its gentle rays filtering in through the window.

Before she could muster the strength to open her eyes, she felt a gentle touch, fingers threading through her hair, barely grazing the skin of her scalp.

A touch so gentle , she thought she must be dreaming.

She tried not to move, tried to keep herself as still as possible — she didn’t want him to stop.

But… a sigh escaped her throat as she nestled deeper into the blanket she was under. He froze, “Don’t stop,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Shhh,” he whispered, brushing a curl off of her cheek. “Go back to sleep, Guinevere.”

“Mnh-mnh,” she hummed, lips sealed tight in disagreement.

“Stubborn thing.” He laughed, tugging gently on the lock of hair he had wrapped around his finger.

When she finally opened her eyes, the sight before her sent an ache straight to her heart. Lancelot lounged on the bed next to her, legs crossed loosely, one hand behind his head. The other, of course, in her hair. “What time is it?” She yawned, relishing the way his lips ticked upwards.

“Just before evening, I think.” His thumb brushed softly along her cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire behind it.

“What have you been doing?” She asked, unwilling to sit up, unwilling to risk losing this little slice of secret.

“Protecting you, my queen.”

“What an odd way of saying ‘ watching you sleep ’.” She finally rose, sitting cross-legged beside him. Something inside of her must have snapped, because it took every ounce of her self control not to curl up against his side, not to press herself into the warmth of his body and stay there.

“Are you hungry?” Lance asked, tilting his head as he quietly assessed her.

“No, I’m not.” But her stomach revolted, growling angrily. “Oh,” she muttered, pressing a hand against the noise. “I guess so.”

“Up,” he said, rising from his spot next to her. “There was a tavern on the way in. Let’s get some food in you.”

Gwen stood, attempting to stretch out the aches in her body as she did. “We’ll have the innkeeper draw you a bath tonight,” He suggested, reaching around her. “Should help with the soreness.”

He plucked his cloak from the bed behind her, draping it over her shoulders. “Can’t have you cold, wife .”

Her heart stuttered, mouth suddenly dry as his fingers deftly clasped the buckles beneath her chin.

He tilted her chin upwards so there was nowhere to look but at his eyes, filled with mischief.

“That is our story, right?” His face fell into perfect innocence, the kind of smile that would haunt her dreams for years to come.

She nodded, tongue made of ash under his gaze.

Her head spun as they took to the cobbled street. With her hand tucked securely into the crook of his arm, she felt anything but steady. She was a queen . The wife of King Arthur, this wasn’t right.

It wasn’t decent.

It certainly wasn’t proper.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about the gentle turn of her knight’s smile?

Why was she desperate to hear his laugh? To feel his fingers brush her skin in that not-so-accidental way of his?

She didn’t remember eating, didn’t remember sitting close to him, knees touching.

She didn’t remember the way his hand gripped her thigh, only just right before he stood.

“Are you feeling well?” He finally asked her as they passed the threshold of the inn. He dropped her arm, holding gently to her shoulders as he studied her. “You haven’t said three words since we left.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, dropping her eyes. “Just tired, I think.”

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Wait here, just a tick.”

The older woman at the counter met him with a smile, nodding amicably as Lancelot spoke to her. He was back by her side in less than a minute’s time.

“Come, they’ll draw you a warm bath.”

Inside the room, Guinevere noticed the screen and the wooden basin behind it. “How did I miss that-” His hands were brushing against her throat again, unclasping his cloak. “...before?” Her breath hitching.

She had to calm down, had to get herself together. There was no telling how long they would be required to stay away from Camelot, and she could not spend her time like a lovesick girl.

“You were busy,” He mused, folding his cloak up and setting it on the small table behind him. “Busy going behind your husband’s back, that is.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you think he’ll say when he finds out his disobedient, wicked wife went ahead and knighted his oldest friend?”

Her face flushed, but before she could respond, a young woman entered with a pail of steaming water. She sloshed it into the basin, promising she would be back with the rest in just a moment.

Once the basin was full, Lancelot shifted, turning his back to the bath, to the screen. “I won’t intrude, queen.” He said, the words softer than he had been before.

She quickly stepped out of the trousers, tossed the shirt into the pile of her discarded clothes, and slipped behind the screen.

She wasted no time sinking into the bath, the steam and heat of the water instantly easing the ache in her muscles. A soft whimper escaped from her mouth as she settled deep, water coming just below her collar bone.

“Guinevere,” a growl came from beyond the screen. “You cannot expect me to keep my thoughts pure when you’re making sounds like that..” And though her skin was red from the warmth of the bath, she felt her face flush deeper. “You mustn’t do that again, darling. I am just a man.”

“Lancelot,” she said softly, and she heard him shift. Gwen got a twinge of pleasure, picturing him fisting the bedsheets in his hands as his self control teetered.

“Please, your grace,” was he pleading? “You are wicked. Stop tormenting me.”

She grinned, sinking lower into the water. Near the edge of the basin, there was a small sack. Inside, she found a variety of soaps and lathers.

Guinevere took her time in the warmth, enjoying every blessed minute of relief that the water brought. She scrubbed her skin with a soap that smelled of lavender, the floral aroma filling the air. Exhaustion settled deep in her bones as the water chilled.

Grabbing the towel over the screen, she began the arduous process of drying off. Her skin bristled as the damp air covered her, and she did her best not to shiver. “It’s so cold,” she chattered, wrapping the towel around herself.

“I’ll start a fire, your-” She stepped around the screen to search for her shift dress, and Lancelot’s words seemed to die on his tongue. When she met his eyes, his mouth was parted, eyes hooded as he held her in his gaze.

They hadn’t needed a fire, after all. Guinevere’s skin was alight once more under his watchful eyes. He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat bobbing. “I’ll start a fire.” He repeated, but his voice was rough.

With his back to her, Gwen felt her resolve strengthen. Wordlessly, she dropped her towel to the floor, daring him to turn around. Daring him to look. Her breaths came faster as she toed the line.

Utterly indecent, that’s what she was.

Maybe Arthur was right.

Maybe she was wicked.

Unable to find an excuse to continue stalling, she found her nightdress, dragging it over her head.

He did not turn.

The fire roared to life as her dress fell into place.

Lancelot rose slowly, none the wiser about the gamble she just took. “I used all the hot water, knight.” She whispered, pulling her fingers through her hair.

A gentle smile graced his lips. “No need to fret, I cleaned up while you were resting, highness.” He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he gave her a once over. “It’s late. You should get some rest. We’ve an early start tomorrow.”

“And you?” She asked, toweling the excess water out of her hair. “Will you rest, too?”

“Of course.” He nodded to the rug she was standing on. In a neat pile sat several folded blankets and a pillow. “Better accommodations than most places I’ve stayed, love.”

“That’s-” Silly? Uncomfortable? Ridiculous? A slew of words ran through her brain, but none of them seemed to fit.

“What’s appropriate.” He finished for her, raising an eyebrow. “You will sleep in the bed, and you won’t argue.”

Guinevere snatched the blankets off of the floor in a single motion, handing them back to the knight. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll catch cold.”

“Guinevere-” He started, frozen in place, jaw hanging open just slightly.

“I command it of you, knight. You are not to sleep on the floor.” She smiled, sitting on the far side of the bed.

“No.” He said quickly, stepping towards her.

“No?” She challenged, leaning forward on her hands.

“You’re on the other side,” His voice was so matter-of-fact, Gwen wasn’t sure if she should be proud or hurt.

“It hardly matters.” She brushed him off, waving her hand in the space between them .

“Move.” His voice dropped. “Or I will move you.” He set the blankets on the bed, edging towards her.

“What sort of knight would I be if I slept away from the door?” He was closer to her now, and she could see the fire flaring in his eyes.

“What sort of man would I be if I let my lady be the first to face an intruder?”

Without another word, she shifted to the other side of the bed, avoiding his glare at all costs. Her insides were knotted up, breaths coming quick and heart racing. Why hadn’t she just let him sleep on the rug?

She wasn’t sure she could survive sleeping next to him. She swallowed, suddenly too aware of the space beside her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he climbed in.

He didn’t touch her.

Of course he didn’t.

But the heat of him, so near and yet — not near enough, wrapped around her like a second blanket.

Guinevere tucked herself under the blanket, back to where her knight sat. Her hair was still damp, sticking to her skin as she tried to get comfortable.

Lancelot blew out the lantern on the bedside table, the room lit only by the gentle glow of the fire. Gwen shivered, but she felt anything but cold.

There was no way she could sleep, no way that her body would relax enough to get even a moment’s rest.

What a terrible idea.