Page 20 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

As he pushed the door open to her quarters, there were already members of the staff filling her bath up with steaming water.

Guinevere perched herself on the edge of the basin, pulling her shoes off. She dropped the dusty things on the floor, and Arthur’s hands were on her again. Peeling off her shirt, cradling her face in his hands.

His touch roamed her now-bare torso, eyes narrowing as he saw fading bruises on her hips. “What’s this?” He asked, fingers brushing the purple marks.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t realized he had marked her.

“I’m not very graceful on horseback, it seems.” The lie rolled off of her tongue so easily. “Du Lac had to do more than his fair share of keeping me upright.” She laughed, backing away from him.

But his hands lingered, tracing up her spine, over her shoulders, down her arms. “I’d like to take a bath, your grace.” She muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Please, don’t let me stop you.” He pressed his lips to hers. “I have missed you.”

With a gentle sigh, she undid the tie on her trousers — his trousers. She bit back tears as she realized he was just standing there, watching her.

She had never felt more on display.

As quickly as she could, she stripped the breeches off and slid into the tub. She hummed a note of contentment as the warm water licked at her aching muscles.

Her hair splayed out in the water around her, sticking to her neck, her chest, her back.

“This is why you should keep your hair up.” His voice came from behind her, sweeping her hair out of the tub. “It gets everywhere, dear.”

“I know,” she whispered, trying not to succumb to the grief she already felt. Trying not to think about how Lancelot had begged her to keep her hair loose. How he had run his hands through her curls like she was a work of art, like she had been sacred.

Arthur sat back on his haunches, watching her every move. She was trapped. A prisoner in her own home. “Are you quite well?” He asked, hands clasping the side of the tub.

His eyes weren’t on hers, though. They traced her curves, a gentle smile tugging on his lip. “You are so beautiful, my queen.” He breathed, his gaze focused on her chest.

A tear escaped, and she ducked her head under the water, fearing that an outward display of grief would get her into trouble.

No longer able to enjoy the base comfort that a bath could offer, she stood, wrapping a linen towel around her. “I’m so tired, your grace.” She said, trying to dry herself without revealing her skin to the man whose eyes were dripping with lust.

“Of course you are.” He wrapped her up in his arms once more, but she felt anything but held. “Let’s lay down, let us rest.”

“Us?” She asked, voice cracking.

God .

She ought to have anticipated this. He always claimed her after he was gone for a diplomatic event. Why would he see this any different? He left to make trades with other kingdoms. Arthur forced her to leave for her own protection.

Of course, they were the same in his eyes.

“Yes, wife, us .” His eyes cut daggers at her, but only briefly. “Let me lay with my wife.”

“No,” she said, the word tumbling from her mouth before she could stop it. Her cheeks flushed, heart pounding.It took all of her willpower not to clap her hand to her mouth, to force the words back.

“No?” He sneered, pinching her chin between his fingers. “Why, of course, little queen. Why should I expect to spend the day with my wife?” His voice dripped with disdain, with a barely covered rage. “Go on, Guinevere. Go and rest your heart out. I will fetch you for dinner, if it pleases you.”

He was gone in an instant, slamming the door to her room behind him.

She stumbled to the mattress, still wet from the bath, still wrapped up in her towel. She curled into herself, as if she could hold her bones together with her arms alone.

Her body ached.

Her soul ached more.

The tears came, and they didn’t stop. She wasn’t sure they ever would. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her chest was tight, lungs unwilling to expand.

She shut her eyes tight, praying for the relief of sleep to capture her.

But it didn’t come, not right away.

She was left, broken, on her perfectly pristine mattress.

The sun shone through the window, warming her bare skin, greeting the day.

And all she could think about was how empty she felt. There was no weight of an arm slung over her midsection. There were no fingers thrumming a nonsensical rhythm across the skin of her stomach.

There was no breath, warm and encapsulating, caressing her neck, her shoulders.

Everything was cold and barren. It was almost clinical.There was no life in this room; there had been no love within these walls.She was sobbing again, tear tracks staining her cheeks, the blankets she lay on.

Sleep finally took her.

A knock came from the other side of the door some time later, pulling her from a restless sleep.

“Your grace,” one of her maidens called. “His majesty requested you for dinner. Asked us to assist.”

“Come in,” she said halfheartedly. The bed was empty. It wouldn’t have been anything else… She knew that. But it was still a blow to her chest.

She never realized how big it was.

Lunete flitted about the room, prepping her clothes, coaxing her out of bed.

Once they got her settled at the vanity, an older woman began the arduous task of taming her hair.

“I’d like to leave it down,” Guinevere asked, her voice not as strong as she had hoped.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She shook her head, wearing a sad smile that might have shown a glimpse of understanding. “We have orders. His Majesty wanted your hair pulled up for dinner.”

Gwen nodded, clutching her dress between her hands, searching for a feeling other than the overwhelming loneliness.

Her servants finished quickly, without another word, and departed. “The king will send someone to fetch you for dinner, miss.” Was the last thing her favored maid said before her heavy door shut again.

She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, but unlike the day prior, the eyes that looked back at her were hollow.

Quickly, she wrestled some of her hair from the tight bun that sat atop her head, unraveling pieces that would frame her face.

And as her auburn curls brushed against her cheeks, color filled her face, and she smiled.

He would be cross with her, if he noticed.

A knock at the door pulled her from her act of rebellion, causing her heart to stutter in her chest.

She rose, steeling herself for the evening. She pulled her sleeves down, brushing any kinks out of her dress. He would not see her broken.

She would not waste away.

That was her thought until the face on the other side of the door was not the king… The eyes she met were the only ones she had been missing.

“Good evening, my queen.” Lancelot offered her a tight smile. “May I escort you to dinner?”

Her eyes burned as she took him in. His clothes were clean, wearing a long tunic decorated with the crest of Camelot. His hair was loose around his face, his eyes drawing her in.

It took all of her self control not to fling herself into his arms, to allow herself the feeling of being seen.

She took his arm, fingers clenching against the fabric of his sleeve. So many eyes, so many faces.

Guinevere squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up high. She could do this.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered, just under his breath. The words uttered for her ears only.

His hand came into view, hovering by her face.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He didn’t touch her. His hand dropped as quickly as it had risen.

But she already felt the ache forming in her stomach.

They arrived at the dining hall all too soon, and she immediately felt the vast space when he dropped her arm, pushing the heavy door open.

“Don’t let him erase you.” His voice found her, quiet but firm, trembling at the edges. His head bowed as she walked into the room.

“There she is.” Arthur exclaimed, standing from his seat at the head of the table. “Welcome home, darling. Let us feast.”

As she neared him, she found that there were three places set at the intimate table. “I hope you don’t mind, wife. I’ve invited your guardian to join us for dinner.” He nodded towards the door, where Lancelot stood.

“Come, old friend.” The king gestured for the knight to join them. “I owe you an unrepayable debt.”

Guinevere took her seat next to the king, eyes cast downward at the plate in front of her. She had no appetite. She prayed Arthur couldn’t hear how loudly her heartbeat thrummed.

Dinner was cordial. She didn’t speak, couldn’t find the words.

He didn’t look at her.

And while part of her hurt, she was glad. She couldn’t handle his tender gaze in a room filled with serpents.

Pushing her food around the plate, her fingers stilled when Arthur next spoke. “I’m prepared to confer knighthood tomorrow, du Lac. If you’re still interested.”

She stole a glance at her guard, watching as he swirled his wine in his goblet. “Is that so?” His voice was casual, teetering on bored. “And if I decline?”

Her heart was in her throat.

Would he leave her here?

“If you decline, well, you’d be foolish, old friend.” The king’s grin cut sharp. “But I’d send you on your way with provisions and a pocketful of gold for your journey.” Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms.

Her fingers were trembling as she set her fork down, clasping her hands together in her lap, under the table.

She felt the brush of a hand across hers, felt her cheeks heat.

“I’ll stay,” the knight mused, taking a long drink of his wine.

His fingers receded from hers, but her skin still burnt from his touch.

“I’ve grown fond of this wretched place, it seems. Wickedness in its walls and all.

” It was his turn to lean into the conversation.

“Tell me, Arthur. How do you plan on continuing to keep your bride safe?”

“I’ve no need.”

Her eyes shot to him, confusion flooding her pores. “What do you mean?”

“The men are speaking, wife.” Arthur cut his eyes to her. “But, I mean your poisoner came forward. We have executed her swiftly. You will have your food tasted henceforth. Does that suit you, du Lac?”

“I trust she is safe,” Lancelot said finally, setting his goblet down. “Though I’ll keep watch, regardless.”

“Ah,” Arthur smiled. “Always the vigilant one.”

Dinner resumed, though the air never loosened. The wine soured in her mouth. Her hands shook against the stem of her goblet, and when she looked down again, her fingers were no longer in her lap — they were wrapped around the edges of her chair, white-knuckled.

When Arthur finally rose, the meal winding down, he clapped Lancelot on the back. “Tomorrow morning, then. We’ll hold the ceremony at dawn.”

Guinevere stood. She hadn’t meant to. Her body acted on its own, heart thudding in her chest.

Arthur’s arm slid around her waist the moment they stepped through the threshold of the hall, his palm resting just below her ribs. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he murmured into her ear, breath hot and far too familiar.

Gwen swallowed the bile crawling up her throat. “Tired, that’s all.”

“A queen’s life is full of burdens,” He mused, grip tightening fractionally. “Tonight, I would have you ease mine.”

Her stomach dropped.

When they reached the royal chambers, he opened the door and gestured for her to enter first.

She did.

The room was dim. The fire had been lit. The sheets on the bed had been turned down. Every small thing was a herald of what was to come. “I’ll join you shortly,” Arthur said, moving to the hearth. “Go on. Make yourself comfortable.”

The king undressed leisurely. Spoke of nothing. His voice droned on about the knighthood, about Camelot’s legacy, about her beauty. But she didn’t hear it. Not really.

And when he finally came to the bed, slid in beside her, and pulled her against him, she went still.

His hands roamed.

She didn’t move.

Not when his mouth pressed to her shoulder. Not when his fingers slipped past the hem of her night gown. She lay frozen, staring past him at the stone ceiling, unmoving. The only part of her that reacted was her heart — thudding, racing, screaming in her chest.

Once sated, he stilled, drifting into the soft, greedy sleep of a man who believed he had claimed what was his. He curled around her possessively, his hand coming to cup her breast as he breathed heavily against the back of her neck.

A tear escaped across the bridge of her nose, she was trapped.