Page 37 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)
The following afternoon, a quiet knock came from her door. Lancelot assumed his position in the adjoining room as she pulled the door open.
“Good morning, your grace,” The servant bowed deeply, avoiding her eyes. “The King requests your presence at tonight’s Grail celebration.”
“G-Grail celebration?” She stuttered, fingers clenching around the door. “I was not made aware of a celebration.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man nodded, hands clasped behind him. “Lady Morgana saw to arranging everything, at the King’s discretion.”
“Yes, of course.” She gritted, “Thank you.” She closed the door harsher than intended.
Her heart skipped a beat, however, when she heard the servant knocking on Lancelot’s chamber door.
The chamber was empty.
Wrenching the door back open, she plastered on a smile. “Sir Lancelot went to run drills with Sir Percival an hour ago, I think. I can deliver the message.”
The servant nodded and left.
“Running drills? Is that right?” His voice came from behind her, laced with mischief.
“I panicked!” She threw her hands up. “I’ve never been in a duplicitous affair! Sorry if I don’t get it perfect.” She was frowning, but it wasn’t heartfelt.
“Duplicitous?” He quirked an eyebrow, closing the distance between them. He cradled her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Is that all I am to you?”
“Yes.” She huffed, “Treacherous.” Her fingers found the nape of his neck. “Dishonorable.” Pulled his face closer to hers. “ Devious ” Guinevere lifted, pressing her lips to his.
He leaned into her, returning her kiss softly, slowly.
But he pulled away much too soon.
“I’m not averse to you using me, mon amour , but you were just dealt a heavy blow, and I think perhaps…” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You shouldn’t let it fester, Guinevere,”
She folded her arms across her chest, a small, composed smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was steady enough to convince no one but herself. “I don’t need anything.”
“Nothing?” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering on her cheek. “Nothing at all?” His voice had dropped low, his other hand hovering at the curve of her hip.
Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips drew nearer, dipping to kiss the shell of her ear. “You’re the goddamn Queen of Camelot. And he invited you to your kingdom’s celebration like you’re a guest of the crown.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to jerk away from him, but his grasp on her hip held her steady
“You’re fine… Of course you are, sure.” His breath was hot on her neck, scrambling her thoughts. “You don’t have to be, though.”
“I’m not angry about the invitation,” she finally confessed after a couple more moments of quiet.
“No?”
“I’m upset that Morgana planned it.” Her jaw tensed as she forced a steady breath through her nose. “She’s the queen in all but name, it feels like.”
“She could never be you.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, bending down to press a gentle kiss against her lips.
“It doesn’t matter.” She huffed, pulling away from him. “We should prepare.”
With another quick kiss, he ducked out of the room. Lunete and the rest of the queen’s ensemble of handmaidens trickled in. One of the women pulled a pale pink gown from her wardrobe, draping it on the bed.
“I hate that dress.” Guinevere frowned from the vanity. “Let’s do one of the green ones, or a navy? Oh! That golden dress with all that detailing?”
“King Arthur requested this dress, your grace,” Delphine, one of her younger maids, explained. “He said the pink looks ravishing with your hair.”
“Delphine,” Gwen turned to her maid. “Pink dress and red hair?” She laughed. “I’ll look like a jester. I’ll pick out a different dress. That way, there is no one is to blame but me.”
As she stood, she watched as a gentle smile curled across Delphine’s face. “Yes, Your Grace. I think the golden dress would look divine. ”
With her gown buttoned, her hair loose and wild, and her skirts smoothed, Guinevere bolstered herself.
With Lancelot gone, her maids had trickled in one by one to assist with each part of her preparations.
Sir Bors awaited outside her chamber room door with a solemn expression. “Good evening, your grace.” He said with a bow. “Please allow me to escort you to tonight's celebration.”
The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Bors had always been kind to her, understanding how one’s father could make choices for your life without you ever having a say.
“His Grace instructed me to wait with you here, ma’am,” He said as they stopped near a side door to the Great Hall. “The King will call for you when he is ready.”
Guinevere did her best not to wring her hands as she waited. It had been hours since she had seen Lancelot. She knew he would be in this room, eventually.
Would she be able to manage her emotions?
Keep her heart in check?
The codependence she felt with him wasn’t rational, she knew that.
She had known him for less than a month, if you didn’t count all the time she spent recreating the memories of him in her head.
She had known she wasn’t happy with Arthur in Camelot. But she hadn’t realized how happy she could be until Lancelot forced his way into her heart.
Her pulse thundered in her ears when the door opened, a servant beckoning them inside. Sir Bors bowed again before taking his leave.
As she stepped into the Hall, Arthur’s voice echoed around her. “ There she is,” His arm was outstretched towards where she entered, “your beloved queen.”
The chairs had been all but removed, with two long tables lining the walls. The tables were decorated with flowers and fruits, filled with abundance.
As Guinevere walked the length of the Hall, she tried to scan the faces around her, without lapsing in her stature.
She couldn’t see him.
Once she reached Arthur, he grasped her by the shoulders, kissing her gently on both cheeks. “You will behave tonight.” He whispered, his voice low — for her ears only.
Gwen gave a slight nod, taking her place at his side with a practiced smile.
“Thank you, Camelot, for joining us tonight.” His smile was wide, his stance welcoming.
He played his role so well.
“On this eve, we celebrate the lives of three of Camelot’s finest men. Three men that ventured out of the safety of our kingdom in search of something grand, something holy .” There was a ripple of conversation across the room.
“These men laid eyes on the Holy Grail and returned to tell the tale. Let us welcome them tonight.”
The room erupted into applause as the far doors opened. Percival, Gawain, and Lancelot entered, dressed in their finest Camelot tabards, swords at their sides. They entered in time.
Only Lancelot’s face showed any emotion.
His lip ticked up slightly as his eyes met the queen’s.
“Welcome, Sir Percival, Sir Gawain, and Sir Lancelot.” Arthur boomed as the knights took a knee before the royal couple.
“You have brought honor to Camelot, to your king, to your names. Secured yourselves lifelong seats at my Round Table. Achieved a feat no man has achieved since Joseph of Arimathea himself caught the blood of Christ.”
Guinevere could hear the tightness in the king’s voice, the disappointment that he, himself, did not have the Grail in his sights.
“Eat, my friends. Drink and be merry. You have more than earned it.”
A fire flashed briefly in the king’s eyes… a sight that settled like a stone in the queen’s stomach.
It was with the boisterous music and the distraction of the dance that her husband leaned over to her and finally spoke.
“I chose a dress for you, Guinevere. Demanded that your maidens pull your erratic and disorderly hair up and out of the way.” He pinched her chin beneath his fingers, turning her to face him.
“Why do you bear none of these things before me tonight?”
“Have I no autonomy, Arthur?” She narrowed her eyes at him, breathing slowly and deep through her nose, doing her best to keep herself level.
“No, wife, you do not. Had you wanted independence, you should have convinced King Leodogran not to marry you off.” He pulled her close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Next time I delineate something for you, you will follow my orders or your maidens will be punished.”
Her eyes widened at the threat, and he grinned. “There she is, my quiet and obedient wife.” He pressed his lips to hers. “See that you do not cross me again.”