Page 4 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

If she could have run out of the meeting room, she would have. Without a knight on her heels, without the looming threat of her husband’s oldest friend constantly supervising her, she wished she could retreat into her own shell.

“This way, sire.” She whispered, without turning to face him. She could feel him at her back, hear his heavy footfalls on the stone.

As they neared her doors, her breath caught in her throat, tears threatening once more. “This door is to your chamber?” Lancelot asked, nodding towards the large wooden frame before them.

“Yes, sire.” Her voice was meek. She felt like a child scorned.

“None of that, please, my lady.” And though she kept her gaze trained on her wringing hands, she could hear a smile in his tone. “I am not a knight, not a lord or a sire. Lancelot is just fine. Lance, if you prefer.”

She had lost her voice, just nodding at his request for familiarity.

“Is it-” He paused, ducking his head so he could meet her eyes.

Eyes that she was certain glistened with unshed tears.

The look on his face seemed so sincere, she almost fell apart right there.

The deep blue in his eyes seemed to swallow her whole.

“Is he always like that?” He asked, his voice barely audible.

Her breath hitched as she quickly broke eye contact. Blinking furiously, praying she could stop the tears, she shook her head.

A blatant lie, but it was better than blasphemy against the crown.

A gentle touch brushed her cheek, and she flinched from his hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes, my queen.” He quickly withdrew his fingers, rubbing his wrist as though her flinch might have injured him. After the morning she’d had… how could she trust the touch of another man?

She turned, swiping the remaining tear tracks off of her cheeks before facing him. “Do you need to see the inside?” She asked, palm hovering over the door to her chambers.

“No, no, there’s no need.” He curled his large hand around hers, pulling it from the knob. “You deserve some privacy, my lady.”

She knew she was trembling, but she couldn’t force herself back into control of her body. But with each of this man’s gentle touches, everything she thought she knew about him was being challenged.

A kind face, a scorching kiss from the night before.

A stern voice, a tense stance from the meeting room.

Her husband’s childhood friend. The husband that kept her leashed, controlled, and contained.

How could he be any different?

“Breathe, Queen.” He said, his voice laced with a kindness, a gentleness that she hadn’t heard since she was younger.

“I am going to take three steps that way-” he jerked his thumb away from the door.

“And if you slip into your room for a quiet, undisturbed moment alone, who would I be to stop you?”

Her lip quivered as she looked at him. “I promise you, my lady, I will not cross the threshold of your room unless I believe you are in danger.”

His eyes sparkled for a moment, the mischief she had seen last night leaking into his gaze. “Or — I am invited.”

And he winked at her.

Honest to God, her jailor — for all intents and purposes — winked at her.

“Guinevere,” she managed, trying to smile at him. “Gwen, actually. I prefer Gwen.”

“Very well, Lady Gwen.” The smile on him was dazzling. He snatched her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her flushed skin. “I will be here if you need me.”

Quickly, without another glance, she shut the door behind her. Even with the assumed kindness from her guard, her emotions were wound tight. Leaning against the door, she bit back a sob, knowing Lancelot would be close enough to hear.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her fallout.

Guinevere sunk to the ground, hands gripping the fabric of her skirts as tears dampened her cheeks. With her back still to the door, she pressed her fist to her mouth, fighting against the whimper that rose in her throat.

And yet, as the tears came, it wasn’t Arthur’s face that lingered in her mind, but the glint in the eyes of the man on the other side of the door.