“Lancelot,” she whispered, fingers brushing his jaw.
“Don’t say it.” His words were tight, tension finally finding its way into his shoulders, into his eyes. “Don’t say anything.”
He didn’t set her down right away.
For a moment, he just stood there with her body pressed against his chest. Guinevere could feel his heart thudding against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
When he finally lowered her to the bed, it was too gentle. Like she might break — likehemight. He knelt before her, not touching, not looking.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching for him.
He flinched.
Only slightly, but it was enough. Enough to make her hand fall lamely back to the sheets.
“I told you not to say anything.” He was quieter now. There was no venom in his words. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Gwen swore she could see it tremble.
She studied him, the way his shoulders rose and fell like he was weighed down by some invisible anchor.
“I saw it,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I’ve seen you standsilent under his cruelty. I’ve watched the way you manipulate him as his hands seek to violate. But today you-” His breath shuddered. “You looked like you’d fall apart. At the thought of me gone.”
“I would.” Her words were faint, a whisper in the room. “Iwill.” Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time… she would not break. “I know what it feels like to lose you, Lancelot.”
Her hand found his — this time, he didn’t pull away. “I swear to God, Guinevere. He won’t use me against you again.” Her fingers shook as she curled her hand around his, knuckles white as her grip tightened.
He stilled, but she could still feel the tension humming under his skin. “If you die in that ring, Lancelot, he wins.”
Silence stretched between them, aching and sharp.
“I won’t.” Lancelot’s voice was low, steady. But his hand — his hand was shaking in hers. “I won’t let him use me to break you.”
She ran her hand through his wild curls, tilting his chin up to meet her gaze. His eyes swam with unshed tears, and her breath hitched. “What do we do?” Guinevere asked softly, afraid her voice would betray her.
“I fight, Iwin.” His hands curled into the fabric at her thighs, head thrown back as he kept her in his sights, looking at her with something that could be akin to reverence.
“You can’t, Lancelot.” She shook her head, cradling his face in her hands. “I won’t let you.”
A rumble started in his chest, escaping as a low growl. “You think I’ll let him present you without a champion? Do you think I’ll let you stand there,alone, while he ridicules you?” His words came out as a snarl, but they only tugged harder on her heart.
“Yes,” she blinked, a tear escaping down her cheek. “I demandit.”
He laughed, but it was not a sound of mirth. It was hollow. Rotten. Worn like ancient armor.
He rose in a single motion — fast, predatory. His eyes locked on hers as if they could pin her in place.
“Demand it?” he repeated, voice low. He gripped her chin, firm but not cruel, dragging her face upward until she couldn’t look anywhere but into him. “You don’t get to make demands of me when you’re the only reason I haven’t burned this kingdom down.”
Her breath caught. His grip wasn’t hurting her — it was anchoring her, like he might fly apart otherwise.
“You don’t get to tell me to stand aside while he strips you bare before the court,” he hissed. “When he accuses you of treason, asks if anyone will absolve you of your sins.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
“You think I’ll let him crown that victory with my silence?” His forehead dropped to hers, a soft, shaking contact in the middle of his fury. “No, Guinevere.No.”
She was torn. She didn’t know whether to close the distance between their mouths, to let himclaimher once more. Or to scream at him, to shout until he saw reason.
So she did both.
