Page 5 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

She didn’t remember crawling into bed, but she awoke with the sun on her face. Her stomach rumbled loudly, forcing her to face the day. She denied her maids when they brought her meals to the door yesterday, and she was paying for it now.

Gwen sat up in the bed, blankets pooling around her as she took stock of herself. She was still in the dress she wore yesterday, and a layer of tears dried upon her cheeks. Her eyes felt puffed.

She stood, muscles aching from the day spent in bed. Her dress rumbled and stained with tears. With a gentle stretch, she reached around to the ties, falling just short of the loops. Guinevere huffed, reaching around again — to no avail.

Her maids would have already come by and left, but she would not call them back.

I will be here if you need me.

His voice echoed in her mind, heat crawling up her neck. She bolstered herself, closing the distance between her and the door. Gently, she cracked it, squinting at the invasive morning light.

There he stood, leaning against the wall, an apple in one hand, a small knife in the other. His eyes snapped up to hers almost instantly. “Good morning, my lady — Gwen, that is. ”

“I need help.” She mustered, avoiding his intense gaze.

“Anything,” He sheathed the knife on his belt, set the apple on a ledge behind him.

“I can’t… I can’t reach the ties.” Her face flushed deeper, words trailing off as the heat flared in her cheeks.“Could you fetch one of my ladies?”

“Of course.” He stepped forward with the caution one might use with a wounded animal. “Who am I looking for?”

“Edith, Lunete, Delphine…” She winced, realizing his ladies were strangers to him. “Anyone, really.”

“Anyone?” And the grin on his face made her flush deeper.

“Any lady you can find, sir knight.”

“Of course,” he winked again. “Where might I find these ladies?”

“They’re probably laundering clothes, if I had to guess.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Lancelot nodded. “And, your grace, where might I find the washroom?”

“Oh, good heavens,” Guinevere dragged her hand down her face with a quiet groan. “Down the hall-”

“I’m teasing your majesty.” He interrupted her. “Arthur’s oldest friend, remember?”

The image burned into her soul, the man she kissed on her midnight escape standing next to the man she married. Clasping hands and exchanging laughter.

“I’ll be back, your grace.”

He disappeared from her sight as she closed the door, leaning her forehead against the cool wood.

Add this to the list of reasons she wasn’t fit for queen .

Maybe Arthur spoke the truth.

She shook her head, trying to banish the notion from her mind, when a gentle knock came at the door.

How long had she allowed herself to wallow?

Lancelot stood on the other side, alone. “I’m sorry, my queen,” he bowed with a flourish. “I could not locate your maidens.” He lingered, eyes scanning her face like he was searching for something. “Would you like my assistance?”

A laugh escaped from her lips, unbeknownst to her. “Absolutely not, knight. That’s not appropriate in any manner.”

“I just wanted to offer. I have a very specific… skill set .” Guinevere could hear the lilt in his voice. He was still teasing her.

“All the more reason to keep you on that side of the door.” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his next move.

“Guinevere,” Her name sounded devastating on his lips, in his accent. “Joking aside, may I help you?”

“No,” but her statement wasn’t half as convincing as she had wanted it.

“How long before your maids return?”

“After supper,” she mumbled under her breath. “Fine.”

He paused, just before the threshold, hands raised slightly — not to touch, but to show he wouldn’t unless invited. “May I?” He asked, nodding towards the open door.

She pushed the door open fully. He stepped inside, taking the door in his hand. “I’m going to close this, to retain your modesty, queen.” His words were quiet, careful.

Gwen nodded, her mouth feeling suddenly dry at the overwhelming shows of chivalry.

The door clicked softly behind him.

Her eyes locked onto his, frozen beneath his gentle reverence of her. The way his gaze was so soft, she felt like she might melt within it.

He twirled a finger, signaling for her to turn around. There was no smirk on his lips this morning, there was no gleam of mischief in his eyes.

And that scared her more than anything she had witnessed in the last day.

She turned, holding the bodice of her top. She felt, rather than heard, him walk towards her. The heat of his body was so close to her own. Gwen reached up to move the hair from her neck.

“No,” his voice was thick, caught in his throat, “Let me.”

Her heart skipped.

“Very well,” she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips as she let her hand fall to her side, as if she could do nothing but surrender to the quiet weight of the moment.

His hand hovered just above her shoulder, and the sensation of his fingers near her skin sent a ripple of warmth through her.

He took a lock of her hair, his fingers threading through the strands with a care that almost felt too soft, too intimate.

Slowly, he wound the curl around his finger, the move so gentle, so deliberate, she thought she might have imagined it.

The world seemed to fall away with that touch.

The air between them thickened, stretching out the seconds until they felt like hours.

Gwen could feel her pulse in her throat, could feel her breath coming a bit too fast. Every slight movement of his fingers made the silence heavier, the space between them too charged to ignore.

And yet, neither of them moved .

His hand gently grasped her hair, brushing it off of her shoulder. His fingers dusted across the back of her neck, and her breath hitched.

For a man who seemed so sure of himself the day prior, she felt his hands tremble as he fiddled with the ties on the back of her dress.

“Is this… Is this acceptable?” He asked, voice raw with something untamed. Gwen couldn’t answer, couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

His fingers tugged at the laces on her back, gently unraveling the ribbons from her dress. She felt the cool morning air on her back as the dress unwound.

And then —

The warmth of another’s touch, light as a feather. Fingers danced tenderly up the curve of her spine, playing a staccato song along her skin.

“Lance?” She breathed, the name barely audible in the charged air around them.

“Yes?” His breath was hot on her skin, as though his lips hovered just inches from her throat.

From where her king had laid a claim on her hours before.

“I-”

He was practically panting against the skin of her neck. “Yes?” He asked again.

“Don’t leave.” She stepped out of his reach, away from his breath.

“Never.”

She couldn’t face him, couldn’t turn to look at the result of her actions. “I’ll need help with a clean dress in a moment.”

“I’ll be here, my queen. ”

She hustled to her dressing room, grabbing the first dress she could find. She let her rumpled dress drop to the floor and quickly stepped into the plain gown. As she took in the dress, she realized she didn’t actually need assistance. This dress hung loosely, with no ties or clasps.

Feeling foolish, Gwen looked around the room, searching for something that she could ask for help with… she would feel quite daft if she didn’t need help, after all.

She settled on a pair of sandals with a tight lace.

Could she do it on her own? Probably…

Would the knight-to-be that sat outside her door promise to offer her more confusing, lingering touches if she asked him for help?

The chances of that were just as likely.

He was just on the other side of this door, and he was anticipating her needs. She might as well let him help…

“Oh, sire?” She called, trying to keep her voice even. “Help me with my shoes?” The sandals dangled from her fingers, a gentle smile gracing her features.

She could be regal — diplomatic. That was her calling.

Her lot.

A sharp look flashed over Lancelot’s features, eyes narrowing as he followed her movement. “Of course, your grace.” He bowed at the waist, waiting for her to take a seat.

Guinevere settled herself at the edge of her bed, dropping the shoes to the floor.

A look of hunger leaked into the eyes of the man before her as he knelt on the ground. His fingers were delicate on her ankle, drawing her foot out from her dress, his other hand found the back of her calf, giving a gentle squeeze.

She bit back a gasp at the sudden touch, choosing to scowl at her knight. He caught her gaze, lips ticking upwards. His eyes did not leave hers as he grabbed her shoe from the ground, using his teeth to untie the lace that held it together.

Lancelot’s eyes flickered to her lips for the briefest second before returning to her gaze, his smile curling at the edges. He tugged gently at the laces with his teeth, his fingers sliding further up her calf, just enough to make her breath catch again.

“Is this part of your training?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “How to untie laces with nothing but your teeth?”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he gave her a look that sent a shiver up her spine. “I could teach you... if you’d like.” His words were slow, deliberate, as though savoring the moment.

Gwen’s lips twitched into a smile, but she masked it with a practiced sigh. “Perhaps later, my knight. I’m sure you have other... important duties.”

He grinned as he finished unraveling the knot with a flourish. “Oh, your grace, I’d never leave you with such a task. Consider it my honor.” His voice dipped lower as he placed the sandal gently on her foot, his fingers lingering just a touch too long.

She watched him carefully, but the playful warmth in her chest softened the edge of her usual composure. “You really know how to make a woman feel... helpless.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and rich. “Not helpless, my queen. Just... well cared for.”

Gwen rolled her eyes with a mock groan. “Well cared for, indeed. ”

“Now that you are clothed and I have properly attired your feet, my queen, may I escort you to breakfast? You must be famished.”

“I am hungry,” she admitted with a quiet laugh.

“Did you eat at all yesterday?” His voice sounded concerned, the teasing lilt missing entirely.

She bit her lip at his sudden shift in tone, a warmth spreading through her chest at the unexpected tenderness. “I... I did not,” she confessed, feeling the weight of her own neglect. “I might have been a little preoccupied.”

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m sure I could convince you to eat, even if it means distracting you with something more... enjoyable.”

Her gaze flickered to his face, watching the play of shadows and light across his features. “Is that your official strategy, then? Trick me into following the King’s rule with charm and wit? I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

He shrugged, the movement easy, as if this was all part of the grand scheme. “I’m not the man for that job, Gwen. His grace made a mistake assigning the vagrant rule-breaker to be the one to break you.”

She smiled softly, hiding her face from him as they stepped into the hallway.

His head dipped, lips near her ear when he muttered, “Besides — We could have fun breaking so many different things together, highness.”