Page 17 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

It was when she awoke with a lightness in her bones and in her soul that the fear crept in. But — it wasn’t fear of Arthur, or the repercussions for her infidelity…

It was the fear that she might never feel the way she did right now. A fear that whatever was blossoming between her and the knight under her touch… would never come to fruition.

It wasn’t the first time Guinevere had wished that someone else had been vowed to Arthur… but this time; it felt personal.

“You’re thinking too loud.” A rasp came from beneath her cheek. “The sun is hardly up, Gwen. Go back to sleep.”

Her fingers grazed the skin on his neck, reveling in the way she could touch him. “Don’t we have to go?” She asked, but she nestled deeper into the warmth of his body, pulled the blanket tighter around the both of them.

“No.” He tipped her chin up, his hooded gaze meeting hers. “I paid for two days. You deserved a day of rest.” And a tinge of blush painted his cheeks.

“Wait a minute-” Gwen sat up, eyes narrowing. “Did you know last night was going to happen?”

“Your highness.” His hand snaked around her waist, tugging her back down to him. “Can you blame me for hoping?”

Swatting at him playfully, she sighed. “No, but I can blame you for premeditation, you rake.” But she laughed, and the sound coming from her mouth almost brought tears to her eyes.

He didn’t attempt to argue, just took his far hand and placed it on her neck, fingers threading gently through her ratted curls. “You won’t get a rise out of me, highness.” He whispered, and a lump formed in Gwen’s throat.

He was tender . His hands touched her with so much reverence, it felt like her skin was alight.

As if, once again, sensing the shift in her, Lancelot ran the pad of his thumb along her cheek. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Guinevere.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” She finally said, feeling foolish for thinking of Arthur at a moment like this.

Lancelot shifted them, rolling over on his side so he could face her. He gently brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her wrist. “I don’t either — I want to talk about you . What’s going on in that head of yours, Queen?”

She closed her eyes, unable to hold his deep blue gaze much longer.

“I’ve always… I’ve always done what was expected of me.

” She whispered, tears springing up quickly.

“Smiled when I should, held my tongue, sat on a throne that never really felt like mine.” She shook her head, drawing in a steadying breath.

“I thought that was enough. That maybe… that had to be enough.”

Lancelot didn’t speak, but she felt his fingertips graze her cheek. Just enough to reaffirm that he was here, that she wasn’t alone.

“He didn’t use to be a cruel man,” she continued, fighting back the urge to just collapse back into him. “He hasn’t always been unkind, he just…”

A breath.

“He doesn’t see me. Not really. Not when we talk, or when we dine. Not when we-” She felt her throat tighten, emotions that she had long since tucked away bubbling up. “Not even when he touches me. It’s like… I don’t know, something symbolic?” She shook her head.

“We shared a bed for the first year of our marriage.” Her words were coming out easier now, her voice stronger. “But after a year… and I…” A snag. “I didn’t fall pregnant. That’s when he gave me my own quarters.”

She moved to swipe at a tear that fell, but found that his thumb was already there, already picking up the pieces.

“I know what it means. I’m not na?ve.” A bitter laugh. “He might already have an heir. He’s just keeping them under wraps in case I produce a legitimate one.”

She felt the warmth of his body growing closer. His forehead against hers. But he still did not speak.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to that, Lance.” Her eyes crept open, and she was reaching for him. She needed to feel something real. “How am I supposed to sit next to him and know-”

Her breathing hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut again. “Know what it feels like to be more than just a political game piece? More than just a jewel in a crown?”

She felt like a child, petulant and greedy. How dare she feel these things? She had no claim on this man before her, no right to these feelings beholden to her.

“Oh, my dove.” Was all he said, wrapping her up in his arms and pressing her firmly to his chest. Her tears began to fall in earnest. His hands were the only thing that kept her from drifting away.

Her sobs subsided after several moments, but his hold on her never loosened. His hands rubbing gentle circles on her back, holding the pieces of her together.

“Oh, Guinevere.” He finally breathed into the still air around them.

“You’ve captured my heart and soul. Not because of your crown.

Not because someone expects it of me. But…

because you laugh like it surprises you.

Because you hold everything in and still manage to carry everyone else. Because you’re you .”

Her fingers curled into his chest, searching for purchase. His arms tightened around her, tucking her head underneath his chin.

“How do we go back?” She spoke softly, afraid of disturbing the sanctuary that he had built for her, using nothing but his arms and his words.

“I don’t know.”

Her heart fell. She shouldn’t have been, but she was depending on him to make her whole, to keep her whole.

“But we will go back together when it’s safe.” His words reverberated in his chest, “I’ll never be far from you.”

He continued to whisper gentle affirmations in her ear while his fingers traced the curve of her spine. Her eyelids grew heavy and eventually she lost herself to the pull of sleep.

And though her sleep was dreamless, she felt rested when she next opened her eyes. The sun’s position in the sky told her it was still just midmorning. But when she reached for him… she only found a cold, empty mattress.

Frowning, she pulled herself from the bed. Guinevere could see every inch of the room from her spot… he wasn’t there.

Deciding to trust that he would be back, she sat down in front of the vanity, pulling her fingers through her wild hair.

She did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Her green eyes shone with something she might have called joy. Her lips were swollen, and her freckles seemed more pronounced.

Gwen allowed herself a small smile before twisting her hair up out of her face.

“Don’t-” His voice came from the now open door. “Leave it down.” He carried a tray of sweet smelling pastries, a few pieces of fruit, and two goblets. “Your hair is exquisite, dove. Don’t hide it.”

“It’s unkempt and unruly.” She argued, realizing that she was spouting the things that her handmaids — and king — had been saying to her for years.

“It’s perfect.”

Without another argument, she let her curls fall, framing her face, brushing her shoulders.

When she turned to face him, she watched as the knot in his throat bobbed, jaw tensed.

“How could a man hold your heart so completely, and let it waste away?” He murmured, setting the food down on the small table.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as he drew nearer to her. He took her hand, pressing his lips to it. Her brow furrowed as she watched him, eyes sparkling with something that bordered on dangerous. “What’s going through your mind, knight?” She whispered, voice much softer than she anticipated.

“I could search my whole life and find nothing that would compare to you, Guinevere. You are the fire in the sunlight, the warmth of a hearth, the light of the moon… Wrapped up in a goddess who I am unworthy to be around. ”

He dropped to a knee before her, taking both hands in his. “I am honored to be your champion, my queen.” She wasn’t breathing, couldn’t . “I will spend the entirety of my life earning your favor.”

She pushed the chair backwards, kneeling alongside him. Taking his face gently between her hands, she blinked back her own tears. “Lancelot,” she murmured, curling her fingers into his beard.

Carefully, like he was fragile beneath her touch, she pressed her lips to his once. Twice. Three times. “You don’t need to earn my favor.” Her lips brushed his as she spoke. “It’s already yours.”

He kissed her again, different from the night before. His lips captured hers in a reverence she might not have ever experienced. His touch was gentle, his movements were cautious.

With his hands in her hair, his tongue brushed against her lower lip, a permission, a plea.A note of contentment escaped from the back of her throat, her hands clasping the back of his neck. “Lancelot, I-”

His mouth descended on hers quickly, a little more fervently, swallowing her words whole.

When he pulled away, he wore an almost sad look.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

“If you…” Her heart was in her chest, her lungs refused to fill.

“You can’t, please.” He kissed her softly, quickly. “Please, Guinevere.”

A flush crept up her neck, embarrassment flooding her veins.

Had she been about to —

No, she wasn’t.

Gods, she was na?ve. Stupid, stupid girl. One man shows her a modicum of attention and affection and she’s about to confess her attraction for him.

But it was more than that… wasn’t it? Whatever continued to blossom between Guinevere and her knight was more than just some si lly romp she had let herself run away with this. This felt bigger.

“No, no, no, no.” He cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t do that, don’t pull away.” Another kiss. “Just don’t say it. Please.”

Blinking back tears, she nodded.

“Let’s eat, my queen.” He pulled back from her, only just. They stayed on the floor, opting to lean against the footboard of the bed instead of squeezing at the small table. Their shoulders pressed together, their knees touching, fingers brushing.