Page 67 of Propriety
“I love you,” she repeated, the crystalline blue in his eyes sparkling as his lips tugged upwards.
“I have only imagined hearing those words from your perfect lips, with your voice that rivals choirs of angels.” He kissed her softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across her cheek.
“I said it last night.” She leaned into his touch.
“I know,” he smiled sadly. “But you thought I was a specter, a phantom come to haunt you.”
“You’re real.” She returned the kiss, lips brushing only just. “You’re real, and I love you, Lancelot.”
He settled beside her, adjusting so that her head lay on his chest, their hands intertwined across his stomach.
She might have fallen asleep, she wasn’t sure.
A loud rap came from her door, yanking her out of the sanctuary that they had built for themselves in this bed.
“Don’t go,” He whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “You’re asleep, you’re sick, you’re mad. Just don’t leave.”
She brushed a loose curl out of his eyes. “I won’t. But you have to get out of the bed, love.” She responded, her voice equally quiet. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
With a quick kiss, he slid out of the bed, grabbing his tunic and making his way to the closed off bathing area.
Guinevere adjusted her slip, smoothing her hair before she cracked the door.
“Wife,” His voice was loud, harsh. A terse juxtaposition to the gentleness of her morning. “Do you plan on leaving your room today? Or will you keep your childish solitude?”
“Far be it from me to leave solitude for your mean spirit and your sister’s venomous jabs.” She responded with a smile.
“Then I guess you’ll have no interest in the news I bring.” He waved his hand, dismissing her like he wasn’t the one standing at her door.
“And what news is that, your holiness?” She sneered, knowing that she was toeing a line and risking the safety of her morning.
Risking Lancelot.
“Someone spotted Sir Gawain and Sir Percival on foot a few towns over. The Grail Team should be here tonight or in the morn.” And then he laughed. “No word from your champion, Guinevere. I suppose Iwill take on the role of the whelp’s father, so that he doesn’t grow up like your lost and fatherless knight.”
Fury rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it quickly, refusing to fall to his level. “May God protect his soul.” She said, shutting the door in Arthur’s face.
“Glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself,” He thundered, so as to be heard through the door. “I will take pride in breaking you once more.”
27
Guinevere slid the lock back into place with shaky hands. She had survived, but only just. Only because of Arthur’s hubris, his need to break her, did she slip through that interaction.
Lancelot was standing near the bed, eyes wide. She wasn’t close enough to read his expression, but she could feel his rage from where she stood.
“Tell me he didn’t just say what I think he said.” He uttered through clenched teeth, with closed fists. “Tell me I misheard him.”
“I… I can’t.” She whispered, shaking her head. “Morgana-”
“You know it’s a lie, right?” He closed the distance between them in less than a few steps, framing her face in his hands. “You know I have never lain with that woman, right?”
She nodded, trying not to fall apart once more.
“I need to hear you say it, Guinevere. I need you toknowthat it never happened.”
“I know, of course I know.” She nodded again, fingers circling his wrists. “I know, now.”
“Now?” His voice sounded appalled, hurt.
