Page 36 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

They dozed off together in the light of the setting sun. Guinevere awoke sometime later by a rumbling in her stomach.

Lancelot slept soundly beside her as she slipped from beneath his grasp. She tugged her gown over her head, reveling in the way her body ached in all the right ways.

It had never been that way before.

She had never felt…

A small smile tugged at her lips as a blush tinged her cheeks. Pressing her hand against her mouth, she searched for a shawl to wrap around her shoulders.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. Her hair was wild, curls kinked every which way. Her lips were swollen, her neck littered with marks from him.

His mouth.

His teeth.

Opting for a cloak instead, she fastened it quickly at her neck, hoping that between the hood and the buckle, she could hide most of the evidence that was plastered on her.

She padded quietly across the room, pulling the heavy cloak tighter around her shoulders. It smelled like him — the scent made her cheeks burn even hotter.

At the door, she paused, glancing back.

He lay sprawled among the rumpled sheets, one arm still outstretched where she had been, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead, his lips parted in sleep. The barest hint of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth, as if even in dreams, he held her.

Slipping into the corridor, she padded down the hall toward the kitchens, hoping the servants had left something behind from the evening meal.

When she returned, balancing a tray with bread, cheese, and a bit of wine, she found him sitting up, blinking blearily at the door like he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.

His eyes found her, softening instantly.

"Guinevere," he said, her name raw, reverent , in his throat.

"You were sleeping so soundly," she said, smiling shyly as she set the tray down. "I didn’t want to wake you."

"You can always wake me," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.

She flushed and turned slightly away, pretending to adjust the food — but not before his gaze caught on the faint purple bruises at her throat, just peeking above the edge of the cloak’s fastenings.

A guilty look flashed across his face. "Gwen-"

"I don’t mind," she said quickly. Her cheeks were warm, but her voice was steady. "I… like it."

“You’re a wicked thing,” He grinned, beckoning her back to the bed.

She sat cross-legged beside him on the bed, sharing bread and wine and quiet touches.

When they had finished, Guinevere tucked herself back into his arms, her head resting against his chest.

He played with the ends of her hair, curling the blankets tighter around them as they lay there, moon high in the sky.

Gwen stirred drowsily, shifting against Lancelot’s chest.

He hummed low in his throat, arms tightening around her automatically, nuzzling into her tangled hair. "Falling asleep on me already, my lady?" he teased, voice still rough from sleep and pleasure.

"You wore me out," she mumbled, nuzzling into the curve of his throat.

He laughed low, the delighted sound that made her toes curl. "Good . "

Then, mischief curling in his tone, he added, "Was it… tolerable?"

She pulled back just enough to look up at him through her lashes. "Tolerable , " she repeated, pretending to think about it. "Mmm. I’ve had worse . "

"Worse ? " he gasped, pretending to be wounded. "Cruel woman."

"You asked," she said, laughing as he rolled them, pinning her beneath him with a lazy grin. His hair fell into his eyes, and his smile was boyish and devastating.

Then, with mock solemnity, he said, "I hope you know you’ve ruined me . "

Guinevere tilted her head, giving him a teasing, scandalized look. "Ruined you?"

"Utterly , " he said, with a mournful little sigh. "I’ll never recover."

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, brushing a curl back from his forehead. "I suppose I’ll have to take responsibility for you, then . "

“You will," he said gravely, though his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed grin. "It’s the honorable thing to do."

She giggled, and he caught her mouth in a kiss, quick and playful, their smiles brushing together.

“For the record,” Gwen murmured once they broke away. “You’ve ruined me too.” Her voice was soft, teasing. “I will never enjoy another man after you.”

“I’ll kill any man who tries,” He growled, peppering her jawline with gentle kisses.

“That’s not very knightly of you.” The words came out breathier than she expected, tilting her head back to give him more access to her throat.

“I am the Queen’s Champion before all else.” His breath was hot against her neck, teeth dragging across her jaw. “Besides, mon amour , you are more than worth the fall.”

The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting flickering gold across the rumpled sheets. They lay tangled together, the hush of their breathing the only sound between them for a long, aching moment.

Guinevere traced mindless shapes on his chest, fingers curling around dark tufts of hair.

Lance kissed the top of her head, his voice soft and a little tentative when he spoke next. “Gwen?”

“Mmm?” She tilted her face up to look at him. Drowsy and warm and so consumed by him, she could hardly breathe.

“How…” His thumb rubbed against the curve of her jaw, almost like he was stalling. “How did you come to be the Queen of Camelot?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “My father served Uther until his dying day. When Uther passed, and Arthur crowned… my father offered the hand of his only daughter to show continued strength between Tamalide and Camelot.”

She continued to draw her fingers across his chest, trying to keep her voice level. “The Round Table was part of my dowry.”

Lancelot shifted quickly, turning so his eyes could meet hers. “You’re telling me The Round Table , the very thing that Arthur established his knights, his rule on… is yours?”

She bit back a laugh. “No, my love, it was my father’s.” She sighed. “I was just part of the deal.”

“A fucking deal.” He sneered, “You should have been cherished . Not bartered with.”

“Hush,” she chided playfully, stretching up to press a kiss to his jaw. “I am cherished now, that is what matters.”

His sour expression didn’t melt away, so she continued. “I didn’t grow up with Arthur, not like you did. But I’ve known him for a very long time. My father respected Uther a great deal. We spent much time in Camelot whilst I was growing up.”

Lancelot’s brow knitted at that. “I never saw you…”

Guinevere laughed, “You wouldn’t have. I followed Ygraine around like a lost puppy.

” A soft smile tugged at her lips. “I thought it must be so glorious to be the queen.

So many people loved her. She got to wear the most beautiful dresses.

And there I was, wide-eyes and scraped knees, ogling at a person.

“Just like they do to me now.” The last part was quiet, like she hadn’t meant to say it.

Lancelot shifted, propping himself on one elbow so he could see her face better in the firelight. “They don’t ogle, Guinevere,” he said, voice low and rough. “They worship.”

She laughed, but there was a tightness to it. She traced a pattern along his arm, the motion featherlight. “They don't know me,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“To know you is to love you, ma chérie. ” He kissed her softly.

“And you?” she asked after a moment, tilting her head back to look up at him again, her voice gentle. “Why did you leave Camelot?”

He hesitated. His gaze dropped to their joined hands, to the faint scars across his knuckles. "I was good with a sword," he said at last, a wry twist to his mouth. "Not so good at... obedience."

Gwen suppressed a laugh as his eyes sparkled lightly. “At seventeen, Uther tried to convince me to take up the oath and be a knight of Camelot.” His eyes glassed over, like he was reliving the moment. “It was never going to work for me. I’m ornery, hot headed, and… passionate.”

“You?” She gasped, feigning shock.

He returned with a mock scowl, shaking his head at her. “One week as a squire and I had enough bruises, scars, and beatings to last a lifetime.”

“They hit you?”

“Not standard practice… I think. But they quickly tired of the foul-mouthed orphan that the king had a soft spot for.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Guinevere whispered softly, laying her hand softly on his cheek.

“Ahh,” He laughed, softly. “I might have. I was a little shit.” He dropped his lips to hers gently, briefly.

She yawned, squeezing her eyes shut gently. “I guess some things never change. ”

“Sleep, darling.” He whispered, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.“You’re delusional.”

“One more question,” she said, nestling in closer to his warmth with a smile. “Did you know who I was… the night of the masquerade?”

“No.” His arms tightened tenderly around her. “Just that your eyes alone melted a part of me I had thought locked away.” His hand moved gently across her skin, lulling her deeper into him. “And the moment I heard your voice? When you whimpered beneath me? Lost. Forever.”

Her eyes were heavy, and she was slipping back into sleep.

“I went to Arthur the next day, trying to find a way to earn a little coin… stick around for a while to find the dove that stole my heart.” His gentle laugh jostled her.

“Imagine my surprise when she was the queen… and my oldest friend thought her wild and wicked.”

She didn’t hear how his version of the story ended. Her body succumbed to his warmth, his touch, to the sound of his voice.