Page 78 of Propriety
“Since my wife refuses to fall pregnant, Morgana carries the heir apparent in her womb. That grants her access to anything in this castle that will help her raise a king, youfool.”
“Yes sir, of course.”
Guinevere didn’t flinch. She refused to let his words drag her back down. But something inside of her cracked, if only just.
And Lancelot noticed.
He stepped around the chair, aroundher, and leaned forward on the table. When he spoke next, his voice was full of venom and smoke. “I will answer,” and even Arthur stilled. “When I looked into the Grail… I saw the truth of who I am. The reason I was put on this earth.”
Gwen’s heart galloped in her chest. She prayed that the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t be visible across the table. “It is not the kind of vision one shares aloud.”
Slowly, so carefully, she made a reckless move. She moved slowly, brushing her fingers against the hem of his tunic like he could heal her by touch alone.
Lancelot didn’t look down, but he leaned, just barely, into her touch.
“I will tell you,Morgana, I could live a thousand lives, and it wouldneverbe your face I saw in the Grail.”
“And did you see a face, du Lac?” Arthur pressed, striding around the table to where the knight stood.
Gwen drew her hand back, clutching her fingers in her lap quickly.
“Perhaps,sire,” the word laced with ire. “You will be able to seefor yourself when a purer knight returns with the Grail.”
Arthur’s jaw was strung so tight it was a wonder he didn’t shatter.
“Why don’t we let the women continue on their day,” the king suggested, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This could go on for hours, no reason to keep them.”
Guinevere stood, holding her chin high.
“I will send for you, wife, when we are through here.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She responded, catching the way Lancelot’s lips ticked upwards infinitesimally. “I have no need.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have my monthly sickness. A touch of nausea. A headache. Too weak. Whatever reason fits your needs, king.” She turned to leave, “No.”
“Of course,” He said through clenched teeth. “Rest well, my queen. We wouldn’t want your condition to worsen.”
31
Guinevere paced the room for hours, it felt like. She had changed out of her gown, into something simple and soft. She had gnawed her nails to bits, plucked most of the petals off of her lilies, and was about to start furiously brushing her hair to keep her hands busy when a gentle rap came from outside her door.
Rushing to the door, she stopped herself from yanking it open. What if itwasn’thim?
Fingers pressed into the grain of the wood, she waited.
“It’s me,mon cœur.” His voice sounded strained, but it was him. “Unless this is your way of telling me to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
She yanked the door open, a sly grin on his face, visible even in the shadows. Pulling him out of the dark hallway, she folded herself into his arms.
Lancelot groaned just a little, his arm tensing as she embraced him.
“Lance?” She pulled back, “What’s-”
The word died on her tongue.
His lip was busted open, a dark bruise covering half of his left side jaw.
