Page 89 of Propriety
He couldn’t know.
“Come,” His words left no room for argument as he pulled her behind him.
“Arthur-” Lance’s voice came from behind them, but the king paid him no mind. “Arthur!” He said louder, a twinge of anger in his voice.
“Stand down, knight.” He sneered, yanking her from the room.
She was going to be sick. There was nothing in her stomach butwine and a few bites of bread, and yet it twisted.
Guinevere tried again to pull away from him, but to no avail. He stopped in his tracks, pushing her chest against the wall in front of him.
“Should I just take you here, wife?” He growled, pressing himself up against her. He began to gather her skirts in one hand, the other still holding tightly to her arm. “Is that what you want?” He rutted into her, his growing erection pressing into the small of her back.
“Arthur,” she whispered, cheek pressed into the cool stone wall. “Let’s go back to our room, love.” She tried not to plead, but as the nighttime air brushed against her legs, fear had lodged itself in her soul. “Please,”
“Such a pretty mouth.” His breath smelt like wine. “Why is everyone in my kingdom trying to stick their dick between your lips, I wonder?”
“Let’s go back to the room, dear.” She muttered again, tears collecting in her eyes as his hips jerked against her again.
The hand that had been gripping her arm pressed its way between her and the wall, coming down roughly on her breast. His fingers were rough, pinching, claiming.
“Step back,” the voice that penetrated the air was loud.
“You.” Arthur didn’t release her, but she felt the pressure of his body move. “You dare tell thekingwhat he can and cannot do?”
“Is the King above the law?”Lancelot.
She could have cried at the sound of his voice.
“Iamthe law, knight.” Arthur turned, releasing her fully.
Guinevere dragged in a deep breath, hands trembling as she turned, staggering back against the wall.
Lancelot had his sword drawn, turned on the king. A bitter laughleft his mouth. “If Uther could see you now, brother, he would beashamed.”
Arthur had a crazed look in his eye. “Put your sword away, du Lac.” Lancelot obeyed, but did not let his eyes leave the king. “You answer tome, knight.”
Her heart was in her throat, she couldn’t breathe. “Arthur…” she muttered.
“No, your grace, I answer to Camelot. To the laws of this land.” He stepped closer, “And I am certain that no one would be pleased to hear their king assaulted the queen tonight on a drunken whim.”
“You won’t say a word.”
“Oh, I will.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “And if you come near her again like that, I will cut your fucking hands off.”
Then, softer, to her, “Guinevere,” Lancelot said, without taking his eyes off the king, “go back to your chambers.”
She hesitated, frozen by fear and fury and the weight of it all — but Arthur exploded.
A guttural snarl escaped him as he lunged. His fist connected with Lancelot’s jaw with a sickening crack.
The knight staggered back a step, head turning with the force of the blow — then straightened, slow and deliberate, wiping blood from his lip.
Arthur shook out his hand, chest heaving. “You forget your place,” he growled.
Lancelot met his eyes. “No,” he said coldly. “I remember it too well.”
Arthur took a step forward again, hand twitching at his hip like he might reach for his sword. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not in front ofher. Not in front ofhim.
