Page 40 of Propriety
“But we can’t-” Her voice broke. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t name the fear that was knotting in her ribs. Couldn’t confess what returning would cost her.
She couldn’t speak.
The barn was long behind them, the road ahead still empty, butshe couldn’t move. Her feet wouldn’t obey. She gripped Lancelot’s wrist tightly, fearing he might disappear if she released him.
And somewhere beneath the panic, beneath the thrum ofwe have to, we have to.There was a quiet voice whispering what she hadn’t dared to admit aloud: She’d touched a man who wasn’t her husband.
Not in the polite, practiced way of court dances or greetings or stolen glances that meant nothing. She had kissed him. She had straddled him. She had watched him come undone for her,because of her,and she hadwantedit. Craved it.
She hadfallen.Somewhere between the way he whispered her name and the way he looked at her like she was more than a crown, more than a role, more than a queen — she had begun to fall.
It was irresponsible, defiant, stupid.
She’d seen his eyes for the first time a week ago, and her heart couldn’t bear the thought of being apart.
She felt cracked open. Vulnerable andfree.
And now she had to go back.
Back to the man who hadn’t touched her like that in months. Who hadn’tseenher in years. Who would place her beside him like another jewel in the crown he guarded so tightly.
Her chest tightened, breath snagging against ribs. Her eyes burned.
“Gwen.” Lancelot’s voice was soft, almost pleading. His hands were still cupping her face, his thumbs stroking just beneath her cheekbones. “We’ll figure it out.”
There would be no figuring it out. She was already ruined.
And what terrified her most, what left her shaking beneath the morning sun, was not that she’d betrayed Arthur.
It was that she didn’t regret it.
“What if we ran?” She whispered, blinking back tears.
He smiled softly. “You know we can’t.”
She wrenched herself from his arms, putting space between them. “You’re so noble.” She spat, her voice too loud for the quiet morning. “You were always going to do therightthing, weren’t you? Noble knight, loyal servant.”
“Gwen-”
She took another step back. “Don’t ‘Gwen’ me, Lancelot. I should have known. There was no version of this where I got to keep you. You were always going to send me back tohim.”
She watched as his face fell, but she hadn’t said her fill yet. She surged forward, pounding her fists against his chest. Not hard, not to hurt — but because she didn’t know what else to do.
Because she had to feel something other than the hollow that was gnawing at her throat.“You were supposed to be different,” she gasped, fists faltering. “You were supposed to fight for me.”
He caught her wrists gently, holding her like she was a fragile, sacred thing. “Iamfighting.”
“Not if you make me go back.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. She hadn’t realized she was crying until he brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Please,” she breathed. “Please don’t make me walk back into that castle and pretend like you never touched me. Like I didn’t fall asleep in your arms. Like I didn’t fall-” She cut herself off, too afraid to say the last word.
Lancelot’s hands cupped her face. His eyes were wide, wrecked. “I know. God, I know.” He wrapped her up in his arms, holding hertightly, holding her together. “But if you think I’m through fighting for you, just because the battlefield’s changed…” His fingers curled into her hair, pressing her tighter against him. “If I have to stand beside him to stand beside you, I will, Guinevere.”
She didn’t answer him.
She couldn’t.
