Page 42 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

A hammering at the door dragged them both from sleep the following morning. Guinevere shut her eyes tight, praying that the intrusion to their morning would go away.

“Guinevere,” a shout from the hall. “If you don’t open this door at once, I will fetch the guards and remove it.”

She lunged out of bed, wrapping her robe securely around herself.

“Dove?” Lancelot called from the bed, voice still thick with sleep.

“Get up,” she hissed. “Arthur’s at the door.” His eyes shot open as he scrambled from the bed, grabbing his breeches as he ducked into the other room.

Gwen pulled the door open slightly, but the king had other plans. Shoving past her, she could feel the anger that rolled off of him.

“Where is he?” He turned on her, snarling. With the door still blown wide open, he crept closer to her.

“Who?” she tried, but her voice shook. Her fingers trembled by her side as she reached behind her for the door.

“Don’t play the fool, Guinevere.” He took a step closer. Another. “ You think I can’t smell him in here?”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” He stalked forward until her back was pressed against the wall. His hand shot out, grabbing her around the throat. “Filthy whore,” he spat, fingers tightening against her windpipe.

A single tear slipped from her eye as she gasped. Her hand curled around his wrist as she struggled against him. “Please,” she managed, fighting to stay conscious as her throat constricted.

“Unhand her.” When his voice rang out, it wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It cut through the room like a sword through silk. Lancelot stepped from the shadows, half-dressed, barefoot, hair tousled. He looked like sin. Like a knight.

Like hers .

“Drop your hand, or I will remove it for you.”

Silence fell upon the room, crackling. Even the birds had stopped singing.

Arthur didn’t move, not right away. But then a joyless smile curled across his lips. “So it’s true,” he said softly. “The Queen’s Champion.”

He released her, almost delicately. Brushing out the sleeve of his tunic. Gwen’s hands immediately went to her neck, drawing in deep, languishing breaths.

“Do you think I care who warms her bed?” Arthur laughed, turning fully to the knight. “The barren bitch couldn’t birth a bastard if she tried. But you-” He pointed a trembling finger toward Lancelot. “You disappoint me.”

The knight didn’t react, stood still as stone, posture signaling that he was ready to forsake his control at a moment’s notice.

“I offered you a place at my table. I offered you honor. A title. Land. I told you that you could have any woman in this kingdom… and this is how you repay me? By fucking my wife?”

“You gave me an order.” His voice was low, dangerous. “You assigned me to her as a punishment . Locked her in a cage and handed me the key.”

“And you used it,” Arthur snapped back. “Don’t pretend this is noble.

” He stood a step closer, jamming his finger into Lancelot’s bare chest. “Do you know what they’ll say when this gets out?

Camelot’s finest champion, the one the Grail chose, couldn’t keep his cock in his trousers.

The queen from the prophecies of old is nothing but a slag ? ”

“And when they find out your sister’s babe is yours, brother?” Lancelot’s voice was the epitome of calm. He did not stoop to the king’s level. “What will they say, then? How will Her Grace and I have twisted that?”

“More treason from the champion,” Arthur sneered. “I could have you hanged. Quartered. Burned at the stake.”

“Be my guest, brother.” He crossed his arms lazily across his chest. “But know that my dying breath will be used to poison your kingdom, your reign, and your rule. The breath before that? To loudly claim my queen as the one whom my soul loves.”

Guinevere couldn’t breathe.

Not from Arthur’s hand. But from something deeper. Something worse .

Because Lancelot had said it. Said it out loud . Not in stolen moments or whispered prayers.

He had called her his queen.

He had claimed her .

And he had done it where Arthur could hear.

Her lungs stuttered around the air. Her throat ached. Her fingers trembled where they pressed to the wall for balance.

She should have been afraid.

She felt holy .

His words rang inside her like a church bell at the world’s end. And she knew — no matter what Arthur did next, she would never bow to him again. Not truly. Not in her heart.

Because someone had seen her. Chosen her. Claimed her not for her womb or her crown, but for her soul .

Her eyes found Lancelot.

He hadn’t looked back at her. He was still staring down the king, every inch the knight.

“The story you’ve crafted so carefully falls apart now that I’ve returned, Arthur.

” Lancelot continued, eyes holding the king firmly.

“I did not sleep with your sister. I spent that entire night right here. In this room, holding your wife . If you so much as harm a hair on her head, brother. I will not hesitate to share the truth.”

“And when the baby is born?” Arthur laughed like he had caught them in his web. “You will raise him? Be the doting father and loyal husband?”

“Fuck, no.” Lancelot echoed his laughter, shaking his head. “It just gives you two lovebirds time to figure out your story. I will not raise that child.”

Her heart still stuttered in her chest. She could still feel Arthur’s hand clenching around her throat.

But she would be damned if she continued to stand here, silent, and let Lancelot take the fall for this entire thing.

“Get out.”

“Oh, the little queen has found her voice.” Arthur turned on her.

Her eyes were already on Lancelot. Bruising flecked around her throat as their eyes met. She blinked back tears, smiling softly. “Let him raise his voice.” Her words were quiet — not afraid, but sacred. “I have already chosen you.”

The tension cracked like a fault line beneath them. Her voice was not defiant. It was devoted . Soft as confession, sure as scripture.

He reached for her hand, his fingers wrapped around hers with reverence. He brought her hand to his chest, right over his heart, and held it there.

Arthur scoffed behind them, bitter and brittle. “You think this little performance will last?” His voice cracked through the quiet. “He’ll leave. They always do. And you’ll be alone, again.” He laughed. “That’s what he does, wife. He leaves.”

Arthur's laughter bounced off the walls, harsh and hollow, but Lancelot's voice, when it came, was steady — silent rage wrapped in unwavering certainty. “You can keep your prophecies, Arthur. She’s mine.” His hand came around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.

“ A rebellion born from the queen, fair and pure, her beauty unmatched, shall rise to challenge the throne. It will shake Camelot to its core, its power undone by what lies within her — by the love she holds and the heart she cherishes. ”

A chill ran up Guinevere’s spine. Lancelot’s arm tightened around her. “She’s mine .” Arthur snarled. “If you think for one second, I’ll let her out of my sight. You’re stupider than you appear.”

He took a step closer. Gwen tried not to flinch.

“I don’t care who she fucks. I don’t care if she fucks every man in this city. But she doesn’t leave the walls of Camelot again. If the whore is prophesied to end my kingdom with a child, then thank God her womb continues to fail her.”

Lancelot was tense beside her, poised like he was ready to strike.

“And, wife, if you want to keep your pretty little consort’s head attached, you will still answer my beckons.” He looked more monster than man as he sneered at the pair of them. “You warm my bed when I ask, and he gets to live.”

A breath. Her body ached with the weight of what he was demanding.

“Fine.”

“No.”

They answered at the same moment. Lancelot’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide with fury and fear. “Absolutely not, Guinevere.”

“He’s not exactly playing a winning game.” She tried to grin, but it wilted into a grimace.

A rough laugh burst from Lancelot as he shook his head. “Funny how the loser’s the only one still making threats.” He leaned over, pressing his lips against the tangled mess of her hair. “I don’t like it.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

She felt him take a steadying breath, his hand clutching at her waist. “If you touch her again, you’ll do it with my eyes on you.” His voice was absolute, leaving no room for arguments. “If she is forced to endure you, Arthur, then I will be the shadow at her side.”

Arthur was already shaking his head. “You’re disgusting.” He spat, turning his back to him. “Exhibition was never my thing, rake. ”

“No, just fucking your sister.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, catching the gasp that attempted to escape.

“This doesn’t end well, wife.”

The door slammed behind him.