Page 33 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

As she stepped out of the safety of her room, a wave of panic coursed through her.

This was treason.

Adultery.

Sin.

But that wasn’t the fear that ate at her. She had made her choices, and she wouldn’t regret them.

But Lancelot?

He didn’t deserve to rot because of her.

Guinevere took a steadying breath as she walked into the meeting room, already hearing voices talking over one another.

Arthur sat at the head of the table, a severe look on his face.

Immediately on his right — in Guinevere’s seat — sat Morgana. Hand on her stomach, sly grin on her face.

Gawain and Percival were both there as well, having spared no time to clean up or change clothing.

The three men spoke loudly over one another.

She approached the table as her eyes caught Arthur’s.

“Wife,” He sneered, silencing the room with a single word. “I don’t believe my men invited you to this morning’s meeting.”

“I am the Queen of Camelot.” She responded, seating herself at the table. “I don’t need an invitation.”

Before the king had a chance to respond, another noise cut through the tension in the room.

The sound of boots in the hall.

Measured.

Unhurried.

Heavy.

Guinevere bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to keep her smile in check. She was invincible by his side.

After a moment more of the terse silence, the large door pushed open. Lancelot strode in, hand resting lazily on his sword.

A crimson ribbon knotted around the grip of his weapon.

“Starting without me?” He asked, stepping up to the table.

“Du Lac,” the king rose from his seat with a bewildered look in his eyes, leaning forward onto his hands. “I assumed you were dead, old friend.” The king waved a hand dismissively. “You and I have much to talk about.” His eyes cut to his sister, who still wore a smirk.

“But first… You dare to return without the Grail.”

Lancelot stalked over to where Guinevere sat, standing behind her chair like a wraith. “Apologies, brother.” The sound of his voice alone brought calm to her.

He was ashamed of his rage, of his anger. But his ferocity… his newly found hostility towards the king made her feel strong.

Safe.

“But we did see it,” Gawain interjected, his fingers curling around the chair in front of him. “We got closer than any questing group has gotten before.”

“You saw it, you found it, and yet it is not here in my hands.” Arthur snapped, slamming his hands down on the table.

The noise caused Gwen to jolt.

Lancelot leaned against her chair, copying Gawain’s motions. She felt a brush on the back of her neck. Light, tender, quick.

“Brother,” her knight drawled, “We lived to bring you information of the Grail. Information you wouldn’t have if we had died.”

“Dead or alive, you are of no use to me.” The king’s words were sharp. This was the closest he had gotten to the Holy Grail. Before him stood three knights who had laid their eyes on his most valued treasure. “Why didn’t you bring it back?”

“You know the legends of the Grail, Arthur.” Guinevere spoke next, her words steadier than she had expected.

“Pure of heart, pure of intent.” His eyes were on her, loathing painted across his features. “Are you telling me that my knights are impure ?”

“My king,” Percival spoke, dragging his hand through his sandy hair. “We are just men. We have strong intentions, loyal hearts, but no man can be pure.”

“And yet it revealed itself to you.” The king stood, pacing around the room.

This was when he struck, when he was most dangerous. Confined to a seat, he could do no damage. “What did you see when you looked inside the Grail, knights?”

Percival and Gawain exchanged a look, and a knot formed in Guinevere’s stomach. “Your grace,” Gawain started, brow furrowing, “du Lac is the only one that had the chance to peer inside before it disappeared.”

“Is that so?” But the words weren’t from the king… they came from Morgana.

All eyes turned to her. She sat with one hand resting over her stomach, the other curled along the edge of the table like a talon.

Her smirk was small, but sharp enough to wound.

“And what did you see, Lancelot?” Her voice was syrup-sweet.

“A vision of Heaven? Or perhaps your impurity made tangible?”

Lancelot didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The only shift was the subtle tightening of his jaw, the twitch of a muscle in his temple. He looked at Morgana like a man calculating the weight of silence. “Well, dear?” She purred, leaning forward.

Guinevere had to dig her fingernails into her palm to keep herself from an outburst. Morgana’s words, her actions — breasts spilling out of her low-cut dress, eyelashes fluttering, a sly smile across her lips — were aimed at Lancelot.

At the claimed father of her child.

“Tell them,” Morgana cooed, tilting her head, “what truth the Grail laid bare for you. Or is it something you’d rather whisper into my ear again?”

The room turned ice cold.

Lancelot’s hand flexed over the back of Guinevere’s chair. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Dangerous. “The Grail does not whisper lies. It shows only what lives buried deepest in a man’s soul.”

Morgana’s smile faltered — but only for a moment.

“What did you see, then?” Arthur barked, impatience crawling through his tone. “Answer her.”

“Your grace,” Percival spoke next, “This is incredibly sensitive information… Might we reconvene?” His eyes flashed to Morgana, only briefly.

“Since my wife refuses to fall pregnant, Morgana carries the heir apparent in her womb. That grants her access to anything in this castle that will help her raise a king, you fool. ”

“Yes sir, of course.”

Guinevere didn’t flinch. She refused to let his words drag her back down. But something inside of her cracked, if only just.

And Lancelot noticed.

He stepped around the chair, around her , and leaned forward on the table. When he spoke next, his voice was full of venom and smoke. “I will answer,” and even Arthur stilled. “When I looked into the Grail… I saw the truth of who I am. The reason I was put on this earth.”

Gwen’s heart galloped in her chest. She prayed that the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t be visible across the table. “It is not the kind of vision one shares aloud.”

Slowly, so carefully, she made a reckless move. She moved slowly, brushing her fingers against the hem of his tunic like he could heal her by touch alone.

Lancelot didn’t look down, but he leaned, just barely, into her touch.

“I will tell you, Morgana , I could live a thousand lives, and it would never be your face I saw in the Grail.”

“And did you see a face, du Lac?” Arthur pressed, striding around the table to where the knight stood.

Gwen drew her hand back, clutching her fingers in her lap quickly.

“Perhaps, sire ,” the word laced with ire. “You will be able to see for yourself when a purer knight returns with the Grail.”

Arthur’s jaw was strung so tight it was a wonder he didn’t shatter.

“Why don’t we let the women continue on their day,” the king suggested, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This could go on for hours, no reason to keep them.”

Guinevere stood, holding her chin high.

“I will send for you, wife, when we are through here.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She responded, catching the way Lancelot’s lips ticked upwards infinitesimally. “I have no need.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have my monthly sickness. A touch of nausea. A headache. Too weak. Whatever reason fits your needs, king.” She turned to leave, “No.”

“Of course,” He said through clenched teeth. “Rest well, my queen. We wouldn’t want your condition to worsen.”