Page 58 of Propriety
“I love you.”
She clutched the letter throughout the night. She didn’t sleep — not really. She lay in the light of the moon, reading his words over and over again. Relishing that he had touched this paper, that his hands had written these words, that he had senthopeto her.
And with the light of the sun came a different feeling. Not the ache of grief, not the tangy sweetness of hope.
Rage.
She had been drowning in her sorrow, swallowed whole by the monster that whispered terrors in her ear.
She had let that outshine the tender touches, the reverent kisses, the sweet nothings that he left her with.
But that wasn’t where her vitriol lay.
In the pit of her stomach, a viper lay — poised.
Morgana.
Spreading lies throughout the castle, telling everyone that she carried his child.
Guinevere had to stop herself from screaming as she watched the sun rise. He would come back, and he would be faced with the fallout that Morgana was setting him up for.
But who was she trying to punish?
Lancelot?
Or her?
24
The days passed a little more linear after receiving his letter. She went nowhere without it — Except for Arthur’s room. Even now, as she met with the cook about meals, she kept it tucked inside her bodice, right next to her heart.
Guinevere still caught herself in the otherness from time to time. The grief still gripped her soul, and fought mercilessly for the light of day.
But it struggled to find a hold on her.
She fought harder against the darkness, fought harder to stay alert.
Alive.
She had deduced that a little over five months had passed since the latest Grail journey had left.
Arthur grew increasingly impatient waiting for word. The last Grail Quest had failed after two months. He hated not hearing hide nor hair from his knights.
He would be back soon. She felt it inside her bones.
She just had to survive until then.
Arthur was waiting for her outside of the kitchens, arms crossed. “That took too long, wife.” He scolded her, brows knitted.
“Oh heavens, my apologies, your grace.” She narrowed her eyes, mimicking his cross gesture. “Alban wanted to confirm the meals for this week and next, what with all of Morgana’s new sensitivities.”
“Howdareyou speak to me that way?” He sneered, snatching her by the arm. “I thought such proclivities broken, Guinevere.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
Her eyes met his, steady and dark. “And I thought you cared for me.”
His grip tightened. She smiled — brittle and small. That was all she needed to know.
