Page 27 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)
The days passed a little more linear after receiving his letter. She went nowhere without it — Except for Arthur’s room. Even now, as she met with the cook about meals, she kept it tucked inside her bodice, right next to her heart.
Guinevere still caught herself in the otherness from time to time. The grief still gripped her soul, and fought mercilessly for the light of day.
But it struggled to find a hold on her.
She fought harder against the darkness, fought harder to stay alert.
Alive.
She had deduced that a little over five months had passed since the latest Grail journey had left.
Arthur grew increasingly impatient waiting for word. The last Grail Quest had failed after two months. He hated not hearing hide nor hair from his knights.
He would be back soon. She felt it inside her bones.
She just had to survive until then.
Arthur was waiting for her outside of the kitchens, arms crossed. “That took too long, wife.” He scolded her, brows knitted.
“Oh heavens, my apologies, your grace.” She narrowed her eyes, mimicking his cross gesture. “Alban wanted to confirm the meals for this week and next, what with all of Morgana’s new sensitivities. ”
“How dare you speak to me that way?” He sneered, snatching her by the arm. “I thought such proclivities broken, Guinevere.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
Her eyes met his, steady and dark. “And I thought you cared for me.”
His grip tightened. She smiled — brittle and small. That was all she needed to know.
“Come, wife, the three of us need to talk.”
“Three of us?” He was already tugging her down the hall. She tried to yank free of his grasp, but it was no use.
“You, me, and the mother to the heir-apparent.”
They ended up in a small meeting room, Morgana already seated at the table. She rose, bracing herself on the oak in front of her.
Guinevere’s breath caught in her throat. She had avoided the woman at all costs since their last encounter.
She… hadn’t been lying.
Her hands began to tremble.
Morgana’s palm slid over her stomach. A quiet, deliberate gesture. One meant to be seen .
Guinevere stared.
Not at the gentle swell of her belly — but at the smugness carefully hidden behind her eyes.
Arthur stood behind her, a hand on her back like she was some treasured relic. Guinevere could barely breathe.
“You didn’t tell her?” Morgana asked, soft as silk.
Arthur’s laugh was hollow. “Oh, she knows now.”
Guinevere’s voice came in a whisper. “How far?”
Morgana tilted her head. “Nearly five months, by the moon. ”
Five months.
The month Lancelot had left.
Her heart was in her throat.
He didn’t…
He wouldn’t have.
Right?
Her head spun, the otherness creeping up her spine.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had thrown up.
It was going to be right now.
“Morgana is certain she is carrying a boy.” Arthur announced, pouring himself a cup of wine.
“Mordred,” she grinned, “His name will be Mordred.”
Guinevere couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t scream.
Because if she asked it…
If she gave voice to her fear…
It might make it real.
“If she’s correct, that gives him the right to the throne.” But he was grinning as he said it.
“Uther was my father as well,” Morgana purred, “Meaning any son I have would be next in line, unless.” She settled back in her chair, caressing her stomach. “You give birth to a boy yourself.”
“Father of a king,” Arthur mused, his lips curling into a frightening state. “Lancelot would be proud.”
“Would be?” She managed, clenching her fists at her side.
“Your champion is certain to have perished.” Morgana answered quickly with a shrug. “It’s been how long since they’ve left?”
“Five months, sister.” Arthur bellowed a laugh that bordered on manic.
It was a joke to them.
Their oldest friend.
The father-
No.
I love you .
“Is that all?” She breathed, teeth clenching to keep from shouting.
“I suppose,” the king waved her away with a servant. “I won’t have need for you tonight, pet. I don’t enjoy breaking you in the bedroom and in the court.” He turned up his nose. “Such a disgraceful thing.”
She turned before he had finished his sentence, heart thrumming loudly in her ear as she made for her room.
I love you.
She had to get there, had to get behind closed doors.
She couldn’t fall apart in front of them again.
He wouldn’t have…
Right?
He was with her, wasn’t he?
He held her.
She’d held him.
They’d cried in each other’s arms.
He didn’t leave her to go lay with Morgana.
Didn’t come to her after laying with her.
Right?
I love you
She pressed the door shut behind her with shaking hands .
The letter was still there, pressed to her heart.
She pulled it free, opened it with trembling fingers, and traced the curve of the L like it might answer her.
"Tell me you didn’t," she whispered. "Please tell me you didn’t."
But the paper didn’t answer.
Only those three words, over and over again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
And none of them could silence the echo of Morgana’s voice.