Page 29 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

When she slipped from sleep, her heart clenched in her throat. It took her so much longer to recover from the nights where he held her in her dreams. She could still feel his gentle weight around her middle, his breath on her neck.

Guinevere blinked, praying the tears away.

It would be easier to force the visions away now, to start her day instead of living in the delusions.

She gave a sigh, steeling herself for the wave of grief that was sure to hit as loneliness crept back in.

She shifted, bracing for the cold stretch of empty sheets.

An unhappy groan came from beside her.

Gwen turned, coming face-to-face with a frowning, messy-haired knight.

“You’re here.” She breathed, tracing the pronounced line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the shell of his ear.

In the light of the day, he looked like he had been through hell. Dark bruises highlighted his eyes. His face was thinner, almost hollow. His hair was matted with dirt and blood. His skin littered with fresh scars, recent injuries.

“What happened?” She whispered, drawing her fingers across a scar on his shoulder. “What happened to you, Lancelot?”

He didn’t answer her, choosing instead to pepper her face with light kisses until she was breathless and giggling beneath him. “Of course I’m here.” His smile was wide as he hovered over her.

For a man who looked half-starved and stitched together by sheer will, he kissed her like he had never felt more alive.

Startled by the affection — true, genuine , affection, Gwen swatted at his arm playfully. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re real.” He murmured, kissing her jaw this time.

“And ticklish?” She huffed, but the giggle she tried to smother betrayed her.

He paused. Froze. His expression changed like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. “Are you?” His voice dropped, conspiratorial.

“Lancelot, no-” But she was already grinning.

“Oh, yes. ”

She let out a quiet shriek as he rolled with her, pinning her beneath him and skimming his fingers down her ribs like he’d just discovered gold.

“Lancelot,” she squealed, squirming beneath him.

“What’s that, my queen? I’m sorry, was that laughter ?” His voice was mock-innocent, his fingers unrelenting. “Is this the sound of you losing a battle to me ?”

“I hate you!” she gasped between giggles, tears beginning to gather in the corners of her eyes.

“You adore me,” he corrected, tickling mercilessly. “You’re obsessed with me. You’re delirious with how much you love me, in fact-”

She caught his wrists at last, breathless and wild-eyed, her cheeks flushed from laughing too hard.

There was a guilt, momentarily, that flooded her veins. The otherness telling her she was not allowed joy; she was not allowed this moment. With all the effort she could muster, she shoved it aside. Focusing all her thoughts on this man, his hands, and the lazy curve of his smile.

She could stay here, in this moment, with him.

It was all she had.

“I surrender,” she wheezed, finally.

He went still above her, panting too, but beaming. “Say it again.”

“I surrender,” she repeated, still grinning.

“To me.”

“To you,” she said, smiling like a girl in a summer field instead of a queen with too much grief staining her soul.

He dipped down to kiss her, grinning still, but it was different this time. Slower. Hungrier. His hands settled on her waist like they had a mind of their own, thumbs brushing the curve of her sides, learning her all over again.

She gasped against his mouth, arching into him.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice thick, “you have missed me.”

She tugged him closer by the band of his trousers, slipping her hands up his chest to feel the heat of his skin. “Don’t sound so smug.”

“You’re the one trying to crawl inside my rib cage.”

“You’re the one who disappeared,” she shot back, kissing him again, open-mouthed and greedy.

He growled low in his throat, “I won’t make that mistake again. ”

“Don’t.” She breathed, still gasping for breath. She curled her fingers into the skin of his shoulders, clutching him to her.

“You’re so needy,” Lancelot moaned gently against the skin of her neck, his fingers dancing back up to her rib cage, mapping the shape of her ribs with featherlight touches. “You’ve wasted away, your grace.” His voice was sterner now, playfulness leaching out of his words.

“How could I eat?” She whispered, a different type of tears stinging behind her eyes. “I thought you were dead.” Her voice caught as she tried to stay here with him.

He’s alive

He’s alive.

“I love you,” He whispered softly, pressing his forehead against hers.

Her heart leapt at the spoken words. Not words she made up in her mind, not an echo of memories from half a year ago.

Real.

Solid.

Tangible.

“I love you,” she repeated, the crystalline blue in his eyes sparkling as his lips tugged upwards.

“I have only imagined hearing those words from your perfect lips, with your voice that rivals choirs of angels.” He kissed her softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

“I said it last night.” She leaned into his touch.

“I know,” he smiled sadly. “But you thought I was a specter, a phantom come to haunt you.”

“You’re real.” She returned the kiss, lips brushing only just. “You’re real, and I love you, Lancelot. ”

He settled beside her, adjusting so that her head lay on his chest, their hands intertwined across his stomach.

She might have fallen asleep, she wasn’t sure.

A loud rap came from her door, yanking her out of the sanctuary that they had built for themselves in this bed.

“Don’t go,” He whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “You’re asleep, you’re sick, you’re mad. Just don’t leave.”

She brushed a loose curl out of his eyes. “I won’t. But you have to get out of the bed, love.” She responded, her voice equally quiet. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

With a quick kiss, he slid out of the bed, grabbing his tunic and making his way to the closed off bathing area.

Guinevere adjusted her slip, smoothing her hair before she cracked the door.

“Wife,” His voice was loud, harsh. A terse juxtaposition to the gentleness of her morning. “Do you plan on leaving your room today? Or will you keep your childish solitude?”

“Far be it from me to leave solitude for your mean spirit and your sister’s venomous jabs.” She responded with a smile.

“Then I guess you’ll have no interest in the news I bring.” He waved his hand, dismissing her like he wasn’t the one standing at her door.

“And what news is that, your holiness?” She sneered, knowing that she was toeing a line and risking the safety of her morning.

Risking Lancelot.

“Someone spotted Sir Gawain and Sir Percival on foot a few towns over. The Grail Team should be here tonight or in the morn.” And then he laughed.

“No word from your champion, Guinevere. I suppose I will take on the role of the whelp’s father, so that he doesn’t grow up like your lost and fatherless knight. ”

Fury rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it quickly, refusing to fall to his level. “May God protect his soul.” She said, shutting the door in Arthur’s face.

“Glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself,” He thundered, so as to be heard through the door. “I will take pride in breaking you once more.”