Page 23 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

She didn’t remember walking back to her room. Didn’t remember crumbing on the floor or wrapping herself up in his tunic. All she felt was the pain, the anger, and the hurt .

Whether or not Arthur knew about them, they had made a fool of him in front of his people, and she would be punished.

But this?

Her heart couldn’t carry the grief, she didn’t have the room.

Her door opened, but she didn’t stir from the ground, body still wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry-” His voice came from the doorway, raw and broken.

Guinevere sat up, her eyes red and her cheeks splotched. “Lancelot,” she breathed, hiccuping. She reached for him, needing to touch his skin, to hold him.

He sat next to her, gathering her up in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” He repeated into her hair, fingers gripping her tightly.

“You did nothing, my dear.” She whispered, brushing the tears off of his cheeks. “This has always been my lot.” She curled her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

He clutched her so tight she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. “Lance?” She asked, voice thick and trembling. “Will you…” Sh e felt her face flush. “Will you hold me?” She averted her eyes, lip darting out to wet her bottom lip.

“Forever,” He stood, keeping her in his arms. In a fluid motion, he pulled back the bedsheet, climbing underneath with her. He kept her close, tucking her against his side.

“Don’t do that,” she stifled another sob, “Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.” She slipped her hand under the hem of his tunic, savoring the heat his body offered her.

“Then a vow that I can.” He sat up, yanking his shirt off with a teasing grin. “I promise you, Guinevere, no matter how long he keeps me from you, even if I never get to see you again. I will have loved you more than anything in this world.”

Her breath faltered. “You said you loved me this morning, too.”

“I did,” He said, “I do.” Kissing her hair, he shifted so he could meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that while I was forcing you out of my bed. You deserve romance and pomp and extravagance.”

“I don’t want any of that,” she blinked hard, “I just want you.” His fingers trailed along her jaw, over her nose, across her collarbone. Like he was committing every plane of her to his memory.

“Guinevere, I didn’t-” His voice caught in his throat. “I’ve never…” The chuckle was a thin, frail sound, barely masking the ache in his heart. “I’ve never felt this before, heart. How cruel is it to feel love and get ripped away?”

“It’s been less than a fortnight,” she laughed, a puny sound. “How am I supposed to say goodbye to you? You’re in my soul , Lancelot. What do I do?”

He took her hand, pressing it against his heart. It raced under her touch. “Keep me there, hold me in your heart, mon amour . Know that I will move mountains to return to your side.”

“Sit up,” she whispered, tugging on his wrist gently.

His brow knitted, but he followed suit, leaning back on her headboard. Her hands were pressed against his chest as she straddled him. Pressing her cheek to his chest, she let out a sad sigh.

His arms came around her instinctively. She didn’t have to ask. His hands slipped underneath the hem of her shift, pressing into the curve of her spine.

“I want to remember this,” she whispered, no longer trying to fight back her tears. “I want to remember your warmth. Your heartbeat.”

His fingers played with the edge of her dress. “May I?”

She leaned away from him, helping him remove the gown from her. He brought her back against his chest, skin to skin.

“Who’s going with you?” Her eyes were getting heavy, but she would be damned if she was going to let herself fall asleep.

“Gawain, Percival, and some squires.” His hands threaded through her hair, lulling her to sleep with the rise and fall of his chest.

“Sir Gawain and Sir Percival are good men,” she yawned, her nose wrinkling as she shook her head.

“Sleep, dove.” He pulled her back, cradling her chin between his fingers.

“I can’t, not when sleep brings me closer to saying goodbye.” She stretched up, pressing her lips to his. He tasted like salt and sorrow.

He kissed her back, gently, tenderly. Like she would come apart under his touch. Pulling back from him, she frowned, shifting, so she hovered above him. “Don’t leave me with that,” she whispered, her lips brushing his. “Kiss me, Lancelot.”

His hand was on the nape of her neck, holding her still. “Relax, Guinevere. We have time.”

“We don’t, Lancelot. We cannot halt the sunrise.” She kissed him again, silently pleading with him. His grip on her neck tightened slightly. Lips moving against hers with a revived fervor.

She prayed to freeze this moment, to stay in this pocket of space for them alone. Guinevere did everything she could to commit this moment to her memory. His smell, his touch, the way he groaned, just a little, as he kissed her.

How, even though she was completely bared to him, his hands never strayed. His touch stayed gentle, his caresses stayed reverent.

“My heart is yours, my queen.” He rasped. Gwen pulled back and saw tear tracks staining his cheeks. She snaked her arms around his middle, holding him close.

“Come, lay with me.” She whispered, tugging him back to the pillows. She curled against his side, clutching tightly to him. “Lancelot, I-”

“Don’t say it, Guinevere.” His voice was tight. “If you say it, I won’t be able to leave.”

“Is that all it would take?” She tried to tease, nudging his ribs gently.

“You know it is.” He turned, pressing his lips against her temple. “And you know that I have to go.”

Gwen shook her head, laying her head on his chest. “I wish you didn’t.”

She didn’t know when they fell asleep, or if he did at all. When she woke up, the bed was cold, the room was empty. Sun filtered through the window, dust particles dancing in the air.

The queen pulled the blanket up over her head, savoring how her sheets still smelled like him.

And she broke.