Page 2 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

The moon was high in the sky as she shut the door of her chambers quietly behind her. Heart still thrumming loudly in her chest, mind still racing as she tried to erase the last hour from her memory.

“My, wife, I hoped my sources had been incorrect.”

She jumped at the voice, forcing her back to reality. The mask that she held in her hand clattered to the ground. The sound echoing in the dark of her room.

Her husband sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed. “My king,” she said quickly, bowing. “What is the matter?”

“Of all the people in this court,” His eyes never left hers, stance unwavering as he watched her. “I never expected you to be the one playing in masks, Guinevere.”

She opened her mouth, just to shut it again. What was she supposed to say? She had been out, flaunting around with the lower members of their kingdom. “Your grace,”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, wife.”

“My lord,” she tried again, keeping her eyes low.

“Don’t play queen now, Guinevere,” His voice was sharp. “You were no queen tonight.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She did her best not to wring her hands as she avoided his gaze.

Her husband was older than her by several years. The curls of his bronze hair fell into his eyes as he tracked her movements. He was still as stone, never moving, never flinching.

“Where were you?” He asked, voice low.

She swallowed hard. “Walking.”

Finally, the statue moved. He tilted his head. “At this hour? In costume?”

Gwen didn’t answer, avoiding his gaze once more. She shuffled her feet, willing herself away.

“Then don’t insult me with lies, Guinevere.” There was no affection in her name. “I’ll not chase shadows when the truth stands silent before me. Morgana saw you.”

“Morgana–”

“Do not speak my sister’s name unless it is to atone for your sins, wife.” His voice grew harsher as he rose to his feet. She did her best not to shrink from him as he stepped closer. “We’ll have to do something about you, won’t we?”

“Arthur?” Her voice cracked, breathing hitched as she felt him draw near. She finally looked up, meeting his severe amber eyes. There was not an ounce of forgiveness available in his glare.

“You represent me. You represent all of Camelot. You must be dealt with.” The room fell quiet. Not even the wind dared slip under the door.

“What are you going to do, Arthur?” She found her voice, shaky.

He took a step closer, boots heavy on the stone floor. He gripped her chin tightly between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You forget your place, Guinevere.” His eyes searched hers, cold — unyielding.

He pushed past her, his back to her as he wrenched the door open. “I will see you in the morning, wife. You will attend tomorrow’s meeting. This will not go unnoticed.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her in the silence. The weight of his words weighed heavy on her shoulders, stronger than any punishment he could have inflicted.