Page 61 of The White Knight

“Hear what?” I brush a soft lock of hair behind her ear and kiss her brow.

“I thought I heard footsteps.”

“I do not hear anything. But perhaps it is Arthur. He should be down here by now.” Something stirs in the dark, making the hairs on my back stand up. “Guin, who was it that told you Arthur wanted to meet you down here?”

“A boy. He handed me a note written by Arthur.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“No.”

“We need to get out of here.”

A sinister laugh pierces the murky air. “It is too late for that, White Knight.”

“Mordred,” I hiss, instinctively grabbing the hilt of my sword and pushing Guin behind me. A shadow looms in the darkness, and I can only hope he did not see Guin and me kissing. I hear him tut in disappointment and more wet footsteps slowly approaching. How many people are down here? Who is down here?

A hulking figure I recognize steps into the dim light, murder in his eyes. “King Bagdemagus.” My heart sinks into my stomach.

“How could you betray your king? I should cut you down where you stand,” he bellows.

Mordred finally steps from the darkness, placing a hand on King Bagdemagus’ shoulder. “My uncle will want him alive. If we kill him, it will only make us look guilty.”

Rushed footsteps splash in the puddles of the catacomb floor, heading toward us. I know it is Arthur as I know now that this was all a trap. My king slows his approach as he enters the light of Guin’s torch, Elaine at his heels. His face is alight with fright at the vision before him. I turn away from his gaze. I cannot look at him.

King Bagdemagus reaches a hand out, placing it on Arthur’s arm. “It seems you have been deceived, my friend.”

The anger in Arthur’s voice is palpable, but I can also hear his sorrow. “It seems I have.”

Guin sits on the floor of the cell across from mine, hugging her knees to her chest. I know she is crying. She has not stopped crying since Mordred tricked us into revealing our truth. Except the full truth has not been revealed. Arthur is still innocent in this. He played his part well, maybe too well. The part of a broken-hearted cuckold whose closest friend betrayed him.

There was a quick trial before we were tossed down here in the dungeon. Arthur did not look at me once. His face was stone, cold, unbreakable. Was he falling apart on the inside as the world crashed down on us? I wish I could speak with him. Tell him I am sorry. Sorry for loving Guin. Sorry for letting my heart believe she could be mine. Sorry for ever leaving her. Sorry for coming back to her. Sorry for ripping apart all of Arthur’s hard work. Sorry for falling into a trap. Sorry. I am so sorry. I have failed my king.

To think I believed we were safe. That we could all live happily together. I punch the stone wall of my tomb, for I know I will die here. Arthur will not put us to death. He could not do that. But he can certainly let us live our lives out in tiny cells. Able to look upon my wife but not able to touch her.

Guin has not moved a muscle, not even when my fist connected with the gritty rock. She is unraveling, and I cannot console her. Our son is now on trial for the sin of being our son. Mordred has no way to prove this, but with Guin and I now in this prison for our guilt, his story will be more convincing. I tried talking to Guin earlier, but her mind was somewhere else. I barely notice my bloodied knuckles as I grasp the bars keeping me inside the prison. The cold metal offers a bit of refreshment as I place my brow against its rugged surface. More tears. More anger. More fear. I cannot make it stop. There is nothing I can do to save my wife, son, and friend from the fate Guin has feared since Excalibur pulled her out of time.

If only I had not been so weak. I should have refused Arthur’s kindness. I should have refused Guin’s love. I do not deserve it. I do not deserve either of them. For I have let my wicked heart conquer reason. When I came back to Guin and Arthur married, my son, the heir to the throne of Logris, I should have left and never returned.

“It isn’t your fault.” The first words out of Guin’s mouth since the catacombs are soft, yet bear no hint of hesitation. “I can feel you arguing with yourself inside your head, blaming yourself for everything that happened. I am as much to blame as you are. Even Arthur is. The three of us did this.”

“Guin, I—“

“No. Lance.” Guin stands up and makes her way to the bars of her prison cell. She reaches out her arm and I reach for her. Our fingers barely touch, but it is all I need to feel how cold she is.

“Guin, you are frozen. We need to get you something warmer.”

“I’m fine, Lance.” She attempts to reassure me with a sad smile.

“No, you are not. And the baby. What barbarians would throw a pregnant woman down here?” Rage courses through me. I know my anger will do nothing to help Guin. Squeezing the iron bars offers me some relief. The pain slowly takes over my wrath.

“Breathe, my love,” Guin whispers. Her words tickle my ear. She can always see the mess inside me. It is one of the many reasons I love her. Most men would be horrified if a woman ever approached them about their emotions. But I love that about her. I need that from her. She keeps me together. I breathe in and out as she counts me down. Each breath unties the knots in my heart.

When I look into her eyes, it feels as if the world around us is not falling apart. For that one eternal moment, we are happy again. Footsteps jolt me out of our stupor, fear replacing my small moment of happiness. The dungeon is poorly lit, with only a few torches scattered here and there, so I cannot distinguish who has come to visit.

“Mom! Dad! Are you all right?” Galahad rushes to Guin, grabbing the hands reaching for him through the bars. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“Oh, my boy. I’m just so glad you’re okay. Mordred didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

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