Page 25 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

She had never attended court so much in all her years of ruling. It was good for her mind; it kept her thoughts from wandering too far.

Arthur rarely permitted her to voice her opinions, but if a woman approached with a problem, or a family needed food or goods, he tasked her with assisting them.

It gave her something to do.

Most days were filled with political jargon and knight assignments, but it was better than needlepoint in her room.

Arthur tilted her chin up, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Too firm.

Too rough.

I love you.

She forced a smile, bowing her head as he took his seat. “It brings much joy to my heart, wife, to have you join me for court.” His words sounded amiable enough, but she felt the jab hiding underneath.

You’re broken.

I broke you.

I’ve won.

“Of course, your grace.” Her hands were clasped in her lap, too tight.

An older gentleman strolled in, sword strapped to his hip and an axe slung over his back.

“Greetings, sire.” Arthur beckoned him closer. “What brings you to Camelot this day?”

“M’just passing through, mostly, your grace.” The man had a deep drawl, a wide smile. “But I’ve been tasked with delivering a message. Was promised to be put up for a night if I did so.”

“Of course, my good man.” Arthur seemed to be kind, so welcoming to the people of Camelot.

She never saw that side of him.

People spoke of Arthur as though he had been blessed by Christ himself, with a kindness in his heart and a welcoming soul that other lords and ladies could only pray they would once achieve.

Even in her grief, Guinevere knew better.

He was a wolf, hidden in the clothing of a kind and gentle man.

“I traveled with a group of your knights about a fortnight ago, I think.” He scratched his head. “Was asked to tell you that ‘The hunt for the Grail continues fruitlessly.’”

Her heart stopped, fingers clutched at her dress. Her knuckles strained as she grasped for something to hold on to.

“Ah,” Arthur practically beamed. “It is always good to hear from my men out on the road. Did you stay with them long?”

The man shook his head. “Just one night, your holiness.”

“Guinevere,” the king called over his shoulder, “Take this man to the guest wing and ensure he is accommodated in our finest rooms tonight.”

She nodded, every muscle in her body screamed.

She ached.

She couldn’t be near this man.

I love you.

She couldn’t hear about him .

“Of course, your grace.”

She prayed they would walk in silence. Prayed that this man would say nothing more of the knights.

She couldn’t hear it.

Was he dead?

Was he alive?

No.

No.

She wrung her hands, praying that he would not speak.

Please don’t say his name.

“Guinevere, eh?” The man asked, looking at her through narrowed eyes. “The big one — he spoke of you.”

She felt it.

The bile rising in her throat.

The tears stinging in her eyes.

“Well, not in so many words.” The man mused, as if he hadn’t driven a dagger clean through her ribs. “Don’t much remember his name, but he said yours in his sleep. Loads of times.”

She couldn’t speak.

I love you.

“I just assumed his lady’s name was Guinevere, but…” The man laughed.

“Lunete will see you to your quarters. Thank you, sire.” She hustled her maid over to her, leaving immediately.

She barely made it past the castle walls before her knees buckled beside a garden pot.

She was already crying when her stomach heaved.

Too much. It was all too much .

Tears trickled down the bridge of her nose as she lost her breakfast.

A peel of laughter echoed near her, causing her empty stomach to jump again. “Oh dear sister,” Guinevere wiped her mouth, her cheeks, her nose, trying to hide the fact that she was coming apart at the seams.

“Morgana,” she rasped, clearing her throat quickly. “A pleasure to see you.”

The woman offered her a hand, a gentle smile. “Is it?” She raised an eyebrow. “You look unwell, dear.”

Gwen took the hand offered, rising to her feet. “I must have eaten something.” She waved her hand in the air, dismissing it.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Morgana’s grin widened, placing her hand on the queen’s stomach. “Or perhaps cousins are in order, your grace.”

“What?” Her brow knitted. “Oh, oh no. I don’t think so,” she laughed gently. “I had my monthly sickness just the week prior. No littles in my future.”

“No?” Morgana shrugged, but her smirk did not dissipate. “An auntie, then.” She snatched Gwen’s wrist, flattening against her own stomach. “I’ve missed my sickness thrice now.”

Guinevere had to remind herself to breathe, to close her jaw. “Congratulations, Morgana.” She tried to smile at her sister’s news. “I know you must be excited.”

“Oh, thrilled, sister.” She pulled Gwen into a hug. “I just hope he’s back before the birth.”

“The father?” She felt stiff, like she was watching this interaction from the air.

“Well, yes,” Morgana nudged her like they were old friends. “I begged Arthur to bring them home, but he said the Grail quest was more important than the father being home.” She was holding her stomach now, beaming.

“Oh,” She felt her hold on her sanity slipping, felt the world drifting by her.

The Grail quest.

I love you.

“Lancelot doesn’t even know, which is the biggest shame of all.” Morgana sighed, rolling her eyes like she was discussing a rotten meal.

Lancelot

Lancelot

Lancelot

Her heart surged, hands beginning to tremble. “L-Lancelot?” She stuttered, desperately trying to process the words she had just heard. His name felt like ash on her tongue. “Has it been that long?”

“Yes, silly.” Morgana tapped the tip of her nose with a single finger. “We spent his last night in Camelot together. He’s quite the romp.” Her eyes sparkled, holding no malice, no ill intent.

Guinevere had to clear her mind.

She was a walking, bumbling, grieving mess.

“Three months.” She said, the words tasting sour in her mouth. Time was wrong. Days were too long, weeks were too short. She couldn’t keep them straight.

“Are you quite well, sister?” Morgana cupped the queen’s face in her hand, frowning. “Maybe you should lie down. You don’t look so good.”

“Y-yes.” She nodded, trying not to stumble as she willed her legs to move.

“My heavens,” the other woman took her arm, “Let me help you, dear.”

She moved like a ghost through the halls. Her head swam, her stomach begged to be upturned. Morgana continued to chatter at her side, about the baby, about him , about nothing at all.

Gwen couldn’t hear her over the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

It was the only thing that told her she was still alive.

I love you.

Inside her chambers, Morgana helped her lie down on the bed. She brushed her hair off of her damp forehead. “Don’t despair, your grace.” She pressed a kiss to Gwen’s cheek. “It will happen for you soon. You know how desperately Arthur wants an heir.”