Page 56 of Propriety
When she woke up — came to — she was clinging to his tunic, curled around it like it could stitch her back together.
Guinevere rose, her muscles ached, her stomach was angry. But the sun on her face felt… welcoming.
She sat in the chair by the window, wrapped up in a blanket.
That was when she thought through what Morgana had said to her.
He couldn’t have been with Morgana.
He had been here, with her.
Her stomach surged, but there was nothing left inside. She closed her eyes tight, pushing the hurt down, burying the pain — the nausea.
He had held her all night long.
She swiped her tears. Her breathing accelerated.
She was trapped. Morgana had put her in check. She couldn’t fight, couldn’t flee.
Argue too much… Arthur would find out about the things she and Lancelot did.
But to accept it openly, publicly, felt like a betrayal to the man who lived inside her heart.
I love you.
He wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
She was sure of it.
So why did her jaw clench?
Why did tears burn at her eyes?
He wouldn’t.
He had spoken her name in his sleep, let his guard down enough that a stranger had heard him calling for her.
He wouldn’t.
Her heart… warmed.
She smiled.
She laughed.
She started crying again. She sat there with the sadness, though. She breathed through it — tried not to let it drown her.
She had lost three months. Three months she had spent wandering in an endless fog of grief.
And her sister-in-law had spun a web so dastardly, she had been too blind to see it.
Did Morgana know about them?
Or did she think Gwen had a pathetic infatuation, had taken a liking to their oldest friend, and wanted to break her spirit?
If she continued to sink under the weight of her grief, there would be no Guinevere for him to return to.
