Page 38 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

Guinevere stayed by Arthur’s side through the night, sipping on her wine. She hadn’t attempted to eat anything, certain that it would come right back up.

After dinner had been served, a small band of musicians took up their place in the room’s corner, filling the air with the sounds of lutes, lyres, and harps.

Many of the guests took to dancing. The sizable area between the tables was the perfect space for this.

Lancelot caught her eyes with a gentle scowl. She had been avoiding him since the evening began, knowing that even a half-grin more from him would set her bones to fire.As he did, a woman approached him, dressed in bright colors, with hair the color of the noon sun.

Guinevere couldn’t overhear what she asked him, but a jealous pit in her stomach appeared when he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

She didn’t own him.

He didn’t owe her monogamy.

And yet… less than a day ago he had been whispering deliciously fi lthy things in her ear.

Would he do the same with this maiden?

The smile on the woman was radiant as they twirled together on the floor. Her eyes revealed how enamored she was with her knight.

Gwen dug her nails into the palms of her hand, trying to keep herself from gritting her teeth.

Arthur had since left his spot at the table, mingling with esteemed guests and local lords. She stayed planted, seething, angry, overlooked.

Not even her husband spared her a glance.

Try as hard as she could to avoid it, her eyes were drawn to Lancelot on the floor again, holding his dance partner close as the music crescendoed around them.

He moved his lips to her ear, and her face flushed, swatting at the knight’s chest.

Guinevere stood, smoothing her skirts and stepping around the table. Arthur caught her eye and shook his head at her, demanding that she stay seated.

Stay seen.

Ogled.

With an impolite huff, she stormed towards the door. Tired of being ignored, tired of watching her knight flirt with someone else, and plain exhausted by the standards that she could never meet.

She was just about to pass the threshold of the door when someone grabbed her wrist, tugging her backwards. “Let me go, Arthur, or I will make a scene.” She snapped as she turned around.

Instead of her husband’s cool grey stare, she encountered a gentle smile, black curls, and captivating eyes .

“May I steal a dance, your grace?” The rich timbre of his voice curled low in her stomach. It was almost enough for her to forget she was feeling agitated. “Before you retire?”

“No,” she said, narrowing her eyes as his lips tugged further upwards. “Don’t you have another partner that awaits your sly words, knight?”

“ Mon amour ,” He laughed, breathing the name. “Do you mean Eleanor? Sir Bors’ sister?” He gently pulled on her hand, back into the Great Hall. “I assure you, she has very little interest in me, my queen.”

“Her brightly flushed cheeks and amorous giggles tell me otherwise, knight.”

“Her bright flushed cheeks and amorous giggles were for you, you daft woman.” They were closer to the dance floor, music surrounding them. “I’m not the only one that’s taken with you, your grace.”

“W-what?” She stammered, her own cheeks flushing.

He pulled her close, one hand placed modestly on her hip, the other holding her hand. “Are two like-minded individuals not allowed to talk about the object of our desire?” His grin was so wide it looked as though his face might split.

He tugged her closer, so she was flush against him, turning in time with the music. “It’s so rare that you’re speechless, your grace.” His head moved slightly, as if he meant to move closer. “Please know, I take great pride in your muteness, my dear.”

He continued to lead the two of them in dance, Guinevere finding the fickle wall she had built over the course of the evening was melting away slowly beneath his gentle touches.

One sound softened into another, but his hands did not relent, did not pass her off, even though few had tried to cut in.

He held her like he would die before surrendering her hand.

“People will talk,” she whispered to him eventually, fighting the urge to lay her head on his chest as the music played.

“Let them,” He answered with a secure smile. “Am I not the Champion of the Queen? Have I not earned time with my top benefactress?”

As the lyre strung out the final note, a new touch found her arm. “Time to go, Queen.” Arthur wrapped his hand around her forearm, tugging her away from Lancelot. His fingers dug hard enough to hurt. “Time to retire.”

Guinevere swallowed, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“My K-King,” she stammered, voice breaking in her throat as she tried to pull herself away from his tightening grip. “I’m tired, your grace. I don’t-”

“You will not refuse your husband any longer, Guinevere.” Her heart skipped in her chest. She hadn’t lain with him since well before Lancelot had returned home.

Truth be told, she still carried marks from the time she and her knight had spent together over the last week.

Arthur couldn’t see them.

He couldn’t know.

“Come,” His words left no room for argument as he pulled her behind him.

“Arthur-” Lance’s voice came from behind them, but the king paid him no mind. “Arthur!” He said louder, a twinge of anger in his voice.

“Stand down, knight.” He sneered, yanking her from the room.

She was going to be sick. There was nothing in her stomach but wine and a few bites of bread, and yet it twisted.

Guinevere tried again to pull away from him, but to no avail. He stopped in his tracks, pushing her chest against the wall in front of him.

“Should I just take you here, wife?” He growled, pressing himself up against her. He began to gather her skirts in one hand, the other still holding tightly to her arm. “Is that what you want?” He rutted into her, his growing erection pressing into the small of her back.

“Arthur,” she whispered, cheek pressed into the cool stone wall. “Let’s go back to our room, love.” She tried not to plead, but as the nighttime air brushed against her legs, fear had lodged itself in her soul. “Please,”

“Such a pretty mouth.” His breath smelt like wine. “Why is everyone in my kingdom trying to stick their dick between your lips, I wonder?”

“Let’s go back to the room, dear.” She muttered again, tears collecting in her eyes as his hips jerked against her again.

The hand that had been gripping her arm pressed its way between her and the wall, coming down roughly on her breast. His fingers were rough, pinching, claiming.

“Step back,” the voice that penetrated the air was loud.

“You.” Arthur didn’t release her, but she felt the pressure of his body move. “You dare tell the king what he can and cannot do?”

“Is the King above the law?” Lancelot.

She could have cried at the sound of his voice.

“I am the law, knight.” Arthur turned, releasing her fully.

Guinevere dragged in a deep breath, hands trembling as she turned, staggering back against the wall.

Lancelot had his sword drawn, turned on the king. A bitter laugh left his mouth. “If Uther could see you now, brother, he would be ashamed. ”

Arthur had a crazed look in his eye. “Put your sword away, du Lac.” Lancelot obeyed, but did not let his eyes leave the king. “You answer to me , knight.”

Her heart was in her throat, she couldn’t breathe. “Arthur…” she muttered.

“No, your grace, I answer to Camelot. To the laws of this land.” He stepped closer, “And I am certain that no one would be pleased to hear their king assaulted the queen tonight on a drunken whim.”

“You won’t say a word.”

“Oh, I will.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “And if you come near her again like that, I will cut your fucking hands off.”

Then, softer, to her, “Guinevere,” Lancelot said, without taking his eyes off the king, “go back to your chambers.”

She hesitated, frozen by fear and fury and the weight of it all — but Arthur exploded.

A guttural snarl escaped him as he lunged. His fist connected with Lancelot’s jaw with a sickening crack.

The knight staggered back a step, head turning with the force of the blow — then straightened, slow and deliberate, wiping blood from his lip.

Arthur shook out his hand, chest heaving. “You forget your place,” he growled.

Lancelot met his eyes. “No,” he said coldly. “I remember it too well.”

Arthur took a step forward again, hand twitching at his hip like he might reach for his sword. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not in front of her. Not in front of him .

Lancelot’s voice was like steel drawn slow from its sheath. “You’d strike the one man who’d protect her?”

“I am her husband!” Arthur bellowed. “Her king !”

“Then act like one,” Lancelot snarled. “Because right now — you’re acting like a beast.”

Guinevere couldn’t move. Her back was to the wall, breath coming short and sharp, like she’d just run a battlefield.

Lancelot turned to her again. “Go.” His voice softened. “Now.”

She wanted to listen, but her legs were unsteady beneath her. She was frozen — skirts clutched in shaking hands, head down.

But he turned back to Lancelot. “You think this doesn’t have consequences?” he spat. “You think you can raise a sword against your king, interfere in his marriage , and walk away untouched?”

Lancelot’s lip bled as he smiled. “You wish to talk about interference?” he said quietly. “Maybe we should start with what you’ve done to your wife .”

Arthur lunged again, but this time, the knight was ready. He caught the king’s arm mid-swing, twisting just enough to make Arthur grunt and stumble.

“I don’t want your throne,” Lancelot whispered, close to Arthur’s ear. “But I will burn your kingdom to the ground before I let you hurt her.”

He let go.

Arthur stared at him, rage flickering beneath disbelief. “You love her,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Lancelot didn’t answer. “Go, Guinevere.” He said again, firmer this time.

Her feet moved, even though she might not have willed them. She couldn’t be here.

She was weak.

She should have been able to stand in the face of her husband, stand beside Lancelot.

But she couldn’t.

As she turned to leave, she heard her husband laugh. “No, you don’t. You’re not that stupid.”