Page 122 of Propriety
“Then don’t make me watch him break you,” he said. “Don’t make me kneel to him just to keep you breathing.”
She kissed him — slow, aching, too tender for how ruined they both were. When she pulled away, their foreheads stayed pressed together. “What do we do?” Her tears burned as they escaped down her cheek.
45
“Do you trust me?” His voice cracked through the fragile silence hours later, low and quiet. Guinevere lay curled against him, her fingers idly tracing the lines of his stomach.
Lancelot didn’t turn. His hand moved in slow, thoughtless shapes up her arm. “Guinevere?”
“Beyond reason,” she whispered, echoing a vow she’d once made when their love was still new. She tried to smile, but her lips didn’t follow.
“More than Arthur?” His fingers went still. So did his breath.
She blinked, sitting up slightly. “Are you teasing me?”
He looked at her then. Blank. Guarded.
“Answer the question.”
“Of course I trust you more than that man.” Her voice sharpened, fury flaring.
“Do you trust me more than the other knights of the Round Table?” He followed her, sitting up too.
“Get to the point, knight.”
“Do you trust me more than Sir Gawain? Sir Percival? Bors? Elric?”
“I trust you more than I trust myself, Lancelot.”
He exhaled. “Then let me stand for you when he demands a tribute.”
Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Rage unfurled like fire in her chest. “I cannot have this fight again, Lance.” She dragged a hand down her face, resisting the urge to scream.
He caught her hand gently in his. Always gently.
Damn him.
“I’ll speak to the knights. I’ll tell them everything — what Arthur’s done. What he’s become.”
“Oh, so you’ll commit treasonanddie for me?”
Lancelot laughed, a sound that shook Guinevere out of her anger, if only for a moment. “No,mon amour. I don’t plan to die for you.”
A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he tugged his thumb across Gwen’s frown. “I’m going tokidnapyou.”
Guinevere stared at him. “You’re going to what?”
Lancelot’s smile didn’t falter, but the fire behind it darkened. “I said I’m going to kidnap you.”
She opened her mouth to argue — to laugh, maybe — but he was already moving, sliding off the bed, pacing. Not with nerves. With purpose. With fury on a leash.
“He needs a villain,” Lancelot said, voice low. “He always has. For Mordred. Morgana. It was you when you stopped obeying. Me, when I stopped pretending to be loyal.”
He turned to face her, and the torchlight caught the sharp line of his jaw. “Arthur can’t bear the thought that he’s the rot in his own kingdom. So I’ll be the infection. The traitor. The knight who stole his queen and spat on his crown.”
“Lancelot-”
“You’ll be the poor, tragic wife. The queen who wastakenfrom her husband’s side by the man who corrupted her. He’ll parade your grief like a flag.” His lip curled. “Let him.”
