Morgana leaned back in her chair, all grace and silk, and took a delicate sip of her wine, eyebrows raised. “Mm. Kindness can be such a dangerous trait in a man.”
The knight leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “What does that mean, Morgana? I must say - I didn’t miss your riddles, girl.”
She didn’t answer, rising from her seat, throwing a condescending look in the queen’s direction. “Be careful with that one, dear sister. He’s trouble.”
A wink, and then she disappeared from the room.
Lancelot’s expression flickered for a moment — something between amusement and silent understanding. His eyes held hers for just a beat too long, but he said nothing. Instead, he leaned forward, fingers drumming absently on the edge of the table, but his gaze never fully left her.
He finally cleared his throat, his voice neutral, almost detached. "I didn’t miss that part of her," he mumbled, eyes on his food now, though his body remained tense. Then he glanced up, almost in invitation. "Is she always like that?"
“You tell me,” Gwen responded, eyes cast down on her hands, face heating underneath his gaze once more. “You seem to know her much better than I could.”
The gentle touch of a hand startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. He squeezed her wringing hands with his own, a comfort in a place suddenly void of familiarity. “Morgana is all bark, no bite. You have nothing to fear from her.” He waited, the pause hanging in the air between them. “Or me.”
“Then you must know a different version of Morgana.” The laugh that forced its way out of her mouth was harsh. “I could never be good enough — She’s the one-” She stopped mid thought, biting down hard on her lip. Once again, she had almost revealed herself to be his mystery kiss from a few nights prior.
“She’s what?”
“Arthur believes her word to be gold. I find much of my… punishments come because of what she believes she has seen or heard.” She gasped softly, clasping a hand over her mouth — an attempt to stop the words that escaped so thoughtlessly. “I’m sorry, that was ill thought. She is special to you, I shouldn’t have-”
“Gwen.” He released her hands, cautiously turning her face, so she had nowhere to look but into the deep pools of blue in his eyes. She felt her heart beat faster at the casual, intimate action. “Until just moments ago, I had not given Morgana a second thought for a decade or more. She is no more special to me than the man that sold me bread a fortnight ago.” He smiled, and it almost felt welcoming. “Arthur and I were inseparable as children. Morgana was just… part of the deal, I think.”
As his eyes softened, holding her gently in his gaze, Guinevere felt a piece of her iced-over heart melt. Something about the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her as if she was more than just a queen or a charge, drew her in.
She was still a foolish girl, naïve and ill suited for the world of politics and grandeur. But if a kind word from her own knight could warm her weary bones, why shouldn’t she seek refuge in it?
Even if it was fake.
Even if he had an ulterior motive.
Since moving to Camelot, she’d had to search out kindness. Find the good in the people surrounding her. Never had kindness just been placed upon her lap, like a gift.
Maybe she was juvenile for thinking that this knight might be a sliver of goodness.
He was a friend of the king.
But the way he was looking at her now? That felt real.
Genuine.
Maybe even kind.
But perhaps… the biggest difference between Lancelot and the others she interacted with?
He never hesitated to touch her. His hand on her back. His arm — held out in a chivalric gesture.
And that was certain to be Guinevere’s downfall.
She had been starved of kind, genuine touches from another human.
If she wasn’t careful… she could find herself falling harder and harder into him.
7
“You’re not going to hide away, are you?” Lancelot’s voice broke through several moments of silence. She had managed to eat about half of the food in front of her before her stomach revolted. He was leaning back in his chair once more, hands resting behind his head.
“I’m not hiding.” She said, but her protest sounded weak, even to her own ears. “A good queen would-”
