Page 32 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

They fell asleep tangled up in one another. Gwen wasn’t sure how she had ever slept any other way.

His body curved against hers, his fingers brushing skin in sleep, clutching, claiming. Gentle kisses across her throat as they drifted off, across her jaw, her shoulders.

They belonged to each other, the way it was always supposed to be.

Sometime in the night, she was awoken by a whimper, a quiet plea. Opening her eyes, she found Lancelot on the other side of the bed, completely removed from her. He whispered her name.

A gasp tore from his throat, sharp and strangled, and he bolted upright, chest heaving like he’d run for days. His skin was slick with sweat, sticking to the linen sheets. One hand gripped the edge of the mattress like he might fall off the world.

“Lance?” Her voice was soft. Drowsy. Full of concern.

He flinched, but he didn’t answer.

Guinevere pushed herself up slowly, blinking against the dark. “Lance, love?”

“I couldn’t get to you.” His voice cut like glass. “I kept trying and — Arthur-” He stopped, as if realizing he was speaking aloud.

Her fingers grazed his shoulder.

He jerked away.

“Don’t… Don’t touch me. I’m sorry-” He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know where I am. Who I am.”

“You’re home,” Her voice was softer now. “It was just a dream, Lancelot.”

“It wasn’t.” He rasped, “It’s not.”

He finally turned to face her. His face was pale, drenched in sweat. His bottom lip was bleeding. His whole body was shaking.

“I heard you scream,” he whispered, voice like gravel. “He… Arthur… was holding you down and I…” His words trembled at the edges as he tried to speak. “I couldn’t get to you. I was too far. I couldn’t stop him.”

Her mouth was dry, she couldn’t swallow. Her hand hovered lamely between them, desperate to soothe.

“I’m not clean, Gwen.” His words turned sour. “I tried to kill him in the dream. I would have done it, too. Not for honor, not for justice. Just rage. Just hate.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s the kind of man I am.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She crawled to him, kneeling in front of him but not touching.

“You’re the man who brought me back to life.

The man who saved me with his touch alone.

” She brushed a lock of his hair off of his cheek.

“You’re the man that brought candy and flowers to orphans, mon amour. ”

A gentle grin fought for freedom at her use of his pet name, and his arms came around her like he was drowning. He tugged her closer to him, settling her in his lap as he clung to her. “I didn’t deserve to make it back.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me.”Guinevere, still curled in his lap, stroked his hair back from his damp forehead. “You don’t have to speak,” she whispered. “Not until you’re ready.”

“I have to,” he choked out. “If I don’t say it now, I never will.”

She went still in his arms.

“I hate him,” Lancelot whispered. “Not just for what he does to you. Not just for how he uses you. I hate him for what he took from me.”

She blinked. “What did he take?”

“You.” His voice cracked like thunder in a storm. “ You. I should have fought harder to stay by your side. I should have refused him.”

“You would have died!” She snapped, tears in her eyes. “You don’t get it, Lancelot. I would have waited a decade more if it meant that, eventually, you returned to my side.”

“You’re thin as a rail, queen. You wouldn’t have made it to your twenty-fifth birthday.” His words might have been harsh, but there was truth to them.

“I might have been wilting, but I was not lost, Lancelot.” She steeled herself, holding his chin in her fingers. “Better wilting and waiting than having to bury you and becoming nothing.”

That did it. That broke him all over again — but differently this time. His eyes flooded, but this time with no shame. No guilt. Just aching, ragged love.

“I was never whole,” he whispered, “not even before I met you. But now, after you… I couldn’t be whole without you, either. You’re in everything I do. You’re the name I said in my sleep. You’re the face I saw when I found the Grail.”

She gasped, barely breathing. “You found it? ”

He nodded, pressing his lips to her hair. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it. It disappeared before my eyes, repelled by me, I guess.” He laughed, a bitter sound. “I’m impure, Guinevere.”

“You’re not a monster for having rage, Lancelot. You’re a complex man with emotions and feelings. I’ll never hold that against you.” She rubbed her thumb along his jawbone in a swiping motion.

“If anyone tries to take you from me again,” His eyes were molten, “I will become a monster.”

She stretched up to kiss him gently. “Together,” she whispered, “We will be monsters together.”

They eventually drifted back off to sleep, clinging tighter, pressed as closely together as they could be.

When Guinevere awoke, she felt the heavy weight of his arm across her ribs, his breath warm and uneven on the back of her neck.

She eased out of bed slowly, her feet hitting the cold floor.

Something inside of her had shifted.

Arthur had tried to break them, but he hadn’t won. He’d twisted the truth, buried them, separated them, and starved them.

But they had endured.

No, not endured.

They had survived him.

Guinevere was through with surviving quietly.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror above her dressing table. Her hair was mussed, her collarbone littered with proof of Lancelot’s mouth — even after demanding he leave no marks. Her skin was still dewy with the heat of the bath and the night and the love they’d claimed in secret.

This wasn’t a weakness .

This was strength.

Lancelot woke a while after, joining her in the window. His arms curved around hers, holding her tightly against him.

“We can’t go back.” He whispered against her hair. “You know that, right?”

“Good,” she replied, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to go back.”

She could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “What do we do, Gwen?”

She turned in his arms, framing his face in her hands. “We have to stop playing the game like we don’t know the rules he’s set.”

“Guinevere,” He started, worry threading through his features.

“He’ll want to meet with Percival and Gawain today.” She started, mind moving quickly. “You have to show up.”

“Can’t we stay hidden here?”

“Forever?” She smoothed his hair, smiling gently. “He’ll come for me again, Lancelot.”

His fingers tightened in her robe, pulling her closer. “I won’t let him.”

“Then we need to face this head on.”

Before either of them could speak again, a loud knock came from the door. Lancelot tensed as she pulled away. “No, my queen.” He whispered, eyes wide. “The sun is barely up… Who is calling on you?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled her robe tighter around herself, covering the marks that littered her skin.

She unlatched the door slowly, cracking it open to find a knight at her door, looking just as rough as her knight did when he had found his way to her. “Your grace,” the knight bowed low, “May I come in?”

“Sir Percival…” She avoided his eyes, unable to answer .

“I know he’s in there, your highness.” His words were soft, almost kind.

“I don’t-”

“I must speak with him before Gawain alerts his grace that we’ve returned. It’s urgent.”

“Let him in.” Lancelot’s voice rang out from behind her.

She stepped to the side, letting the knight in. Lance beckoned her over to him, where he instantly placed himself between her and the knight.

“What do you want, brother?” His voice was tight, his grip on Gwen tighter.

“He won’t tell him.” Percival held his arms out in a surrender, making himself small.

“Gawain won’t condone what you are doing.

You know he won’t turn on Arthur. But-” His voice trailed off, like he was searching for the right words.

“He might have seen some truth to your statements regarding our king.”

“And you, Percival?” She could feel his rapid heartbeat, the way his entire body was tense — ready to strike.

“I have never heard of a man that loves as fully as you seem to love our queen, du Lac.” He smiled softly. “She is kind, has always been gentle and cordial with us vagrant knights.” He laughed. “If she deems you worthy, who am I to question it?”

“Sir Percival,” Guinevere called, stepping from around her guard dog. “I am glad you returned safely. I never would have forgiven myself if my recklessness got you killed.”

“You’re too good for him, your grace.” The knight laughed quietly. “But, god, does he love you.”

Lancelot’s ears tinged red .

“I tell you, ma’am, I have been on many a quest, with men from all different walks of life.

” He turned on his heels, ready to leave.

“But I have never met a man that turned away from the women that threw themselves at a knight’s feet.

Turned down warm bodies because what waited back home was far greater. ”

With another bow, he opened the door. “You don’t have much time, du Lac. Gawain went straight to the king’s chambers. We will meet with him before noontime, I am certain.”

Without another word, Percival vanished from sight.

Lancelot locked the door back behind him, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the wood. “I wanted more time with you. More stolen time in secret.”

“We’ll have more time,” she whispered.

“Not like this. Not without stakes.” He tightened his hand into a fist at his side.

Moving to him, she laid a hand on his bare shoulder, “There have always been stakes, heart.” The room felt void of air. “We were able to pretend they weren’t there.”

Gently curling her fingers around her arm, she turned him. “Come, we must get ready. We will be there when Gawain and Percival meet with Arthur.”

“And what do you plan to do about this?” He untied the sash at her waist, pushing the robe back from her shoulders.

The shoulders that carried the proof of him.

The skin that boldly claimed who she belonged to.

“Don’t worry about that, Lancelot.” The corner of her lip tugged upwards.

His lips found her neck, kissing her gently. “Should I add more? For good luck?”

“Later,” she breathed, pulling his lips up to meet hers.

They dressed in silence. The hush between them was not strained — it was sacred.

Lancelot’s armor lay untouched by the hearth. Guinevere couldn’t help but watch as he pulled on black breeches and a black linen tunic.

He looked like vengeance.

Gwen tightened the sleeves on her crimson gown. The lace neckline swept high across her throat, cutting a striking silhouette against her pale skin.

The color of conquest.

Of blood.

Of rage .

She wore no jewels. No crown.

His eyes met hers and for a moment, neither of them moved. “You look villainous.” He grinned, stepping closer to where she stood. “Dangerous.” His hand brushed the skin across her back. “ Merciless.”

His hands quickly fastened the buttons, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck above the top one.

“And you?” She turned, holding him in her sights. She smoothed her hand down the front of his tunic. “Just a minute.” From a vase on her vanity, she plucked two lilies, white as snow. She twisted the stem off of one.

Deftly, she secured it right over his heart.

She tucked the other one behind her ear into her wild, untamed hair.

“You look like my savior.” She whispered, tugging him down by the lapel of his tunic. Guinevere kissed him quickly. “Strap on your sword, champion. We have places to be.”

Lancelot did not step away, curling his hand against her neck. With his thumb, he tipped her head back further, kissing her deeper. “Staggered entrances, mon amour, ” he breathed, his lips brushing hers. “You first.” Lips crashed down on hers, moving in time. “You know I love to make a scene.”