Page 59 of Propriety
“Come, wife, the three of us need to talk.”
“Three of us?” He was already tugging her down the hall. She tried to yank free of his grasp, but it was no use.
“You, me, and the mother to the heir-apparent.”
They ended up in a small meeting room, Morgana already seated at the table. She rose, bracing herself on the oak in front of her.
Guinevere’s breath caught in her throat. She had avoided the woman at all costs since their last encounter.
She… hadn’t been lying.
Her hands began to tremble.
Morgana’s palm slid over her stomach. A quiet, deliberate gesture. One meant to beseen.
Guinevere stared.
Not at the gentle swell of her belly — but at the smugness carefully hidden behind her eyes.
Arthur stood behind her, a hand on her back like she was some treasured relic. Guinevere could barely breathe.
“You didn’t tell her?” Morgana asked, soft as silk.
Arthur’s laugh was hollow. “Oh, she knows now.”
Guinevere’s voice came in a whisper. “How far?”
Morgana tilted her head. “Nearly five months, by the moon.”
Five months.
The month Lancelot had left.
Her heart was in her throat.
He didn’t…
He wouldn’t have.
Right?
Her head spun, the otherness creeping up her spine.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had thrown up.
It was going to be right now.
“Morgana is certain she is carrying a boy.” Arthur announced, pouring himself a cup of wine.
“Mordred,” she grinned, “His name will be Mordred.”
Guinevere couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t scream.
Because if she asked it…
If she gave voice to her fear…
