Page 8 of Propriety (le morte d’Guinevere #1)
He stormed ahead of her, boots falling loudly on stone as she tried to keep up with his tirade. “Lancelot,” She called ahead, flush with embarrassment.
Once again, she had let the touch of this stranger lure her into his net. She had yet to figure out what game he was playing, but she knew that he was stringing her along marvelously.
“Lancelot, please slow down.”
He was on a mission, barreling down the halls of the palace. Gwen gathered her skirts in her hand as she tried to keep up, to catch up with him.
She almost lost him as he darted around a corner, hands curled into fists at his side.
When she rounded the corner, she saw him opening the door to Arthur’s meeting room. “Lancelot!” She hissed, pressing her hand against her chest in an attempt to soothe her racing heart.
He turned to look at her, a wide grin across his face as he pushed the door open.
By the time she made it through the door, he was already speaking to the king. “Her Grace has requested to visit the orphanage, and I intend to accompany her, Arthur. She does not require an escort — my blade will suffice.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Never in all her life would she have thought that was the reason her guard wanted an audience with the king. She felt a twinge of shame as she watched her husband look Lancelot over.
She could see the cogs turning in the king’s mind, trying to figure out how Guinevere could have possibly pulled this off. “I don’t believe she asked me about this, du Lac.”
“Perhaps she didn’t feel the need.” Lancelot smiled, and the world would have fallen at his feet.
“Is this true, wife?” Arthur’s line of question always turned to her. When she looked up, his gaze was severe, arms crossed like she was a petulant child.
“It has been a while since I’ve seen the children, your grace.”
“Come on, brother,” Lancelot laughed now, clapping the king hard on the shoulder. “You’re going to tell your queen she can’t visit fatherless children?” He cocked his head, waiting for him to disagree.
“Lance-”
“That was me, Arthur. And your mother was always at the orphanage. Queens like her” he nodded in Gwen’s direction “Hold great kingdoms together.”
“Are you using your parentless life as an excuse for my wife?” And though his words were accusatory, his stance lightened. “You’re taking this trial quite seriously, old friend.”
“I am nothing if not entirely bought into the cause, brother.” Lancelot gave a bow that, somehow, felt mocking.
“When did you become so noble , du Lac?”
“Just trying to play my part, friend.” The knight was the picture of ease, hands settled loosely on his hips, an almost bored look on his face.
“Wife, come,” Arthur beckoned for her, and she had to oblige.
She did, however, notice how Lancelot’s shoulders stiffened as he called for her.
Arthur took her hand, pulling her to his side. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the scruff of his beard, more fuzz than facial hair, scratched against her skin.
She didn’t intend to compare the two men, but she couldn’t help it when Lancelot stood before her, stance wide, looking as if carved from marble and shadow.
And she belonged to a man whose beard looked like it might blow away with a strong breeze.
Gwen bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing away the smile that threatened with her childish thoughts.
“Guinevere,” her king pulled her from her head, dragging her eyes away from the other man in the room. “Why were you not present for your meeting with the steward?”
There it was, the cutting of his voice, the snideness that would go unnoticed by anyone else.
“I went for a walk in the gardens.”
“You and your walks, wife. Always getting you in trouble.”
“Ah, if there’s blame to be had for her majesty’s walk, it is on me, Arthur.” Lancelot stepped in, stepped closer. She could feel tension leaking off of him, while still looking unbothered.
“You, du Lac? How did her misgivings fall into your hands?”
“I suggested some sun, some fresh air. I understand my role, Arthur. But she does not deserve of a prison sentence. ”
Gwen felt her fingers twitch towards her knight, unwillingly. An unspoken need to assure him, to let him know he didn’t have to rile the king up anymore.
But her slight gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Arthur’s eyes flicked down to her hand, before back up to her eyes. His stare faltered with hostility, but only for a moment. “I’ll see that you have an escort arranged, wife. I need Lancelot here with me.”
“Thank you.”
“No,” They spoke at the same time. Lancelot’s words came across stern where Gwen tried to be compliant.
“I beg your pardon?” Her heart thrummed in her ears as she watched her husband’s face redden. “This is my kingdom, boy.”
“And I was found near a lake and raised in a children’s home, Arthur. I follow no kings.” Lancelot took a steadying breath. “But you are my oldest friend. Let me do what you have assigned me to do. Her grace and I will leave at first light tomorrow, and we will return by evening meal.”
“I did not assign a babysitter, du Lac.”
“I believe you did, brother. First light, we take our leave. Thank you.”
Leaving no room for denial, for rebuttal, or for rebukes, Lancelot turned on his heels, offering his arm to Guinevere.
And there, before her very eyes, was her choice.
The king who seethed just below the surface at her every move. Her husband, with whom she was wed and vowed to before God and their country.
Or her knight.
A man who forced his way into her life at a midnight masquerade, whose kiss still lingered on her lips.
Shit.
“Thank you, my king.” She stretched up on her toes, pressing a kiss to her cheek with a soft smile. “I appreciate your grace.” She bowed her head towards where her king stood, looking more confused than angry.
She did not take the arm of the knight, choosing instead to fall in step just behind him, head bowed and hands clasped.
But as she walked through the threshold… she couldn’t help the way her lips ticked upwards gently.
“Don’t look so pleased, Guinevere.” Lancelot teased from a few steps ahead. “You were useless in there without me.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you were there.”