Page 6 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)

Lancelot trailed behind her as they made their way to the dining hall, humming a nondescript tune as he followed her. “Did you eat yesterday?” Gwen asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Of course.” She didn’t have to be looking at him to hear the smirk on his face. “Couldn’t have let the food your poor maids brought you go to waste.”

“You ate my meals?” She stopped in her tracks, turning on him. “What if I decided I wanted them during the night?”

“Did you?” He asked, voice even. “I slept by your door, your Grace. You did not open it once.”

She spluttered, eye twitching as she looked at his smug face. “You slept by my door?” She asked, incredulous.

“God, of course not. How miserable would that be?” He laughed, easily sidestepping around the queen. “Arthur gave me the maid’s chamber nearest to your door. Said you refuse to force your handmaids to sleep in a ‘stuffy excuse of a closet.’”

“It is a poor excuse for a space for anyone to sleep in…” Gwen muttered under her breath, still processing.

His grin only widened. “Are you offering to share?” He teased — but there was something in his voice that hinted more than jest.

“What would my husband, King of Camelot, think of you trying to worm your way under my covers?” She shot back, digging a finger into his shoulder. “Talk about improper.”

“What was that?” He spun on her, an eyebrow arched as he closed the distance between the two. “I don’t believe I’ve said anything about propriety, my queen.”

Her face flushed a deep red, quickly avoiding his gaze. The conversation she was recalling… was from the night of the revel. He wasn’t supposed to recognize her. She had been doing her best to keep the woman he danced with that night, and the queen that stood before him, separate.

“You’re entirely improper. What if I told the King of your wicked words?”

He took a step closer, pinching her chin gently between his fingers. “I would tell him I plan to fuck the rebellion out of you, Guinevere.”

“I-” Her jaw hung open, scowling at the man before her. A lithe smile plastered across his face, a smug arrogance that made her want to scream.

“Speechless, queen?” He teased. “The way I hear it, that’s on the line of impossible.

I am honored.” He released her chin, bowing to her.

“Now, come,” he moved around her, placing his hand on the small of her back and giving her a gentle push.

“Before everyone else hears the unruly noises your stomach is making.”

He opened the door for her, offering another grand salute before entering. Lancelot stepped past her — or he tried to.

Before he could get too far, Gwen seized a handful of his tunic, dragging his face down to hers. With her lips near his ear, she breathed, “ If you’re so eager to see what I am made of, knight, perhaps we should discuss this in private . I would be more than happy to teach you proper manners.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she was already several steps ahead of him, taking her place at the dining table. She settled herself, posture perfect as the servants made up a plate for her. “Won’t you come and eat, Sir Lancelot?” She called, looking up through her lashes.

Pushing her food around her plate, Gwen stole a glance at the knight sitting near her. He was absorbed in his meal, and the queen felt a hint of shame rising within her. She didn’t know this man.

She had been so wrapped up in the modicum of attention that he had been giving her, that she had been craving , that she could have very well fallen into his trap.

He had all the makings of a rake — a man who knew what he wanted, and how to get her into his bed. And she had fallen for it not once, but twice now.

She was such a fool.

Angered a king, enamored with a knight, locked inside her own home. How had one evening detonated her life so entirely?

“You’re not eating, highness.” A voice dragged her from her thoughts, the venom behind the words giving her a start. “Something not to your liking?”

Her eyes met a pair as dark as coal, unyielding and unkind. “Good morning, Morgana.” She managed, bowing her head at her sister by marriage.

The woman’s smile didn’t meet her eyes. She was the antithesis of the queen, tall, with dark hair that framed her face like a painting. She could have been a goddess, if such a thing existed.

“My, sister,” Morgana sat in the seat to Gwen’s right, setting her goblet down in front of her with an almost feline grace. “You’re looking flushed. I do hope you aren’t falling ill.”

She had eyes everywhere — she always had. Guinevere could never measure up to the standard Morgana had set for a sister-in-law. No one would have been worthy of her younger brother.

But it seemed, over the years, that Gwen fell even shorter than that.

And after her midnight adventure… Morgana had been the one to incriminate her.

What else had she seen?

“It’s quite lucky you’re under Lance’s charge, sister dear. He’s ever so loyal. Did my brother tell you that the three of us grew up together? We were inseparable. ”

Gwen felt her ears burn, kept her eyes trained on the untouched meal in front of her. Her appetite had receded quickly.

“In fact,” the other woman continued, swirling the wine in her goblet.

“Lance was always so protective. Once, when I pricked my finger on a thorn bush, he carried me all the way back to the palace.” She leaned forward, eyes alight with something dangerous as she looked on at the knight in front of her.

“I imagine he’s just as… attentive now.”

“You and I remember that day much differently, my friend,” Lance interjected, laughing lightly. “You pricked your finger, but acted as though your legs wouldn’t support you. Arthur practically begged me to carry you, so he didn’t have to do it himself.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen watched as Morgana’s perfectly built mask slipped just a smidge. “Ah well, such a vivid imagination I must have had as a young girl. But you were always protective, weren’t you, dear?” Her gaze flicked back to the queen quickly. “To a fault, some might say.”

Guinevere swallowed hard. The walls felt as if they were inching closer, like the room itself knew she didn’t belong in it.

“You - you must remember those days so fondly.” She let out a small laugh — brittle and too soft. “He’s very kind,” she offered, hating the way her voice wavered at the edges.

Lancelot turned his head toward her, the corners of his smile dimming just slightly. Not enough to draw attention. But enough for her to feel it — the weight of his eyes. The quiet question in them.

Morgana leaned back in her chair, all grace and silk, and took a delicate sip of her wine, eyebrows raised. “Mm. Kindness can be such a dangerous trait in a man.”

The knight leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “What does that mean, Morgana? I must say - I didn’t miss your riddles, girl.”

She didn’t answer, rising from her seat, throwing a condescending look in the queen’s direction. “Be careful with that one, dear sister. He’s trouble.”

A wink, and then she disappeared from the room.

Lancelot’s expression flickered for a moment — something between amusement and silent understanding. His eyes held hers for just a beat too long, but he said nothing. Instead, he leaned forward, fingers drumming absently on the edge of the table, but his gaze never fully left her.

He finally cleared his throat, his voice neutral, almost detached. "I didn’t miss that part of her," he mumbled, eyes on his food now, though his body remained tense. Then he glanced up, almost in invitation. " Is she always like that?"

“You tell me,” Gwen responded, eyes cast down on her hands, face heating underneath his gaze once more. “You seem to know her much better than I could.”

The gentle touch of a hand startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. He squeezed her wringing hands with his own, a comfort in a place suddenly void of familiarity. “Morgana is all bark, no bite. You have nothing to fear from her.” He waited, the pause hanging in the air between them. “Or me.”

“Then you must know a different version of Morgana.” The laugh that forced its way out of her mouth was harsh.

“I could never be good enough — She’s the one-” She stopped mid thought, biting down hard on her lip.

Once again, she had almost revealed herself to be his mystery kiss from a few nights prior.

“She’s what?”

“Arthur believes her word to be gold. I find much of my… punishments come because of what she believes she has seen or heard.” She gasped softly, clasping a hand over her mouth — an attempt to stop the words that escaped so thoughtlessly.

“I’m sorry, that was ill thought. She is special to you, I shouldn’t have-”

“Gwen.” He released her hands, cautiously turning her face, so she had nowhere to look but into the deep pools of blue in his eyes.

She felt her heart beat faster at the casual, intimate action.

“Until just moments ago, I had not given Morgana a second thought for a decade or more. She is no more special to me than the man that sold me bread a fortnight ago.” He smiled, and it almost felt welcoming.

“Arthur and I were inseparable as children. Morgana was just… part of the deal, I think. ”

As his eyes softened, holding her gently in his gaze, Guinevere felt a piece of her iced-over heart melt. Something about the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her as if she was more than just a queen or a charge, drew her in.

She was still a foolish girl, na?ve and ill suited for the world of politics and grandeur. But if a kind word from her own knight could warm her weary bones, why shouldn’t she seek refuge in it?

Even if it was fake.

Even if he had an ulterior motive.

Since moving to Camelot, she’d had to search out kindness. Find the good in the people surrounding her. Never had kindness just been placed upon her lap, like a gift.

Maybe she was juvenile for thinking that this knight might be a sliver of goodness.

He was a friend of the king.

But the way he was looking at her now? That felt real.

Genuine.

Maybe even kind.

But perhaps… the biggest difference between Lancelot and the others she interacted with?

He never hesitated to touch her. His hand on her back. His arm — held out in a chivalric gesture.

And that was certain to be Guinevere’s downfall.

She had been starved of kind, genuine touches from another human.

If she wasn’t careful… she could find herself falling harder and harder into him.