“And, wife, if you want to keep your pretty little consort’s head attached, you will still answer my beckons.” He looked more monster than man as he sneered at the pair of them. “You warm my bed when I ask, and he gets to live.”
A breath. Her body ached with the weight of what he was demanding.
“Fine.”
“No.”
They answered at the same moment. Lancelot’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide with fury and fear. “Absolutely not, Guinevere.”
“He’s not exactly playing a winning game.” She tried to grin, but it wilted into a grimace.
A rough laugh burst from Lancelot as he shook his head. “Funny how the loser’s the only one still making threats.” He leaned over, pressing his lips against the tangled mess of her hair. “I don’t like it.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.
She felt him take a steadying breath, his hand clutching at her waist. “If you touch her again, you’ll do it with my eyes on you.” His voice was absolute, leaving no room for arguments. “If she is forced toendureyou, Arthur, then I will be the shadow at her side.”
Arthur was already shaking his head. “You’re disgusting.” He spat, turning his back to him. “Exhibition was never my thing, rake.”
“No, just fucking your sister.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, catching the gasp that attempted to escape.
“This doesn’t end well, wife.”
The door slammed behind him.
39
The door slammed so hard it rattled in its frame. Dust shook loose from the stone above it.
Then silence.
It wasn’t peaceful. It throbbed. It pressed in around them like a bruise.
Guinevere didn’t realize she was shaking until Lancelot touched her.
He reached for her slowly, reverently, as if she might break. His fingers brushed her cheek first, then curled beneath her jaw, tilting her face toward him. His thumb hovered near the bruising blooming on her throat.
“Don’t,” she whispered, flinching from his touch — not fromhim, but from the shame creeping up her spine. “Don’t look at it.”
His breath hitched. He stepped closer anyway. “I saw it,” he said softly. “I can’t unsee it.”
She closed her eyes, tears slipping free at last. “I didn’t mean to say yes.”
“I know.” He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them trembling, breath mingling. “Iknow.”
“I couldn’t let him kill you.”
“And I won’t let him touch you.” His voice cracked around the words. “That’s all we’ve done, haven’t we? Kept choosing each other.”
She let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, hands clutching at his wrists. “I’ll say yes a hundred more times if it keeps you breathing.”
“I’ll slit his throat in the throne room if he lays a hand on you again.”
Her head dropped forward, forehead thudding against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her like armor, holding her tightly, rocking them both in place. He was still shirtless, still barefoot, still half-dressed from the chaos — but now he was fully hers again.
And she was his.
Blood and breath and bruises and all.
