“Don’t be daft,” He laughed, standing from the table. “From what I hear, your version of agood queenhad frequently involved sneaking out.”
Guinevere didn’t answer, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him. His eyes curled up at the edges as he laughed. The rich timbre of his voice resounded deep inside her bones.
“A walk, your grace.” He stood, offering a hand.
She took it, keeping a skeptical look on her face. “A walk?”
“Surely the gardens of Camelot have a path?” His hand covered hers as she slid it into the crook of his elbow.
“Our gardeners take great pride in our florals,” she offered, falling in step beside him easily. “But I fear that a jaunt about the castle walls isn’t exactly what Arthur had in mind for punishment.”
Lancelot’s steps faltered just a little. “If anyone says anything,I’ll take the brunt of the blame.” He turned his gaze to meet hers, winking. “You’re welcome.”
As they walked side by side through the rows of flowers and the budding trees, Gwen smiled softly to herself. Truth be told, she had stopped taking in what her knight was saying. He was speaking of the different plants he had seen in the last town he was in… maybe.
“You enjoy the sound of your own voice, don’t you, Lance?” She interrupted him, casting a sideways smile at him.
He stopped in his tracks, hands crossing over his chest. “Just because you’re practically mute, your grace, doesn’t mean you have to criticize the efforts of a dedicated conversationalist.”
She couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. “I’m just wondering how much youactuallyknow about foliage, and how much you’re making up.”
“I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow, my queen.” He shrugged — the picture perfect look of innocence.
“On my toes?” She grinned, a little more freely this time. She began walking again. Certain he would follow. “You’re more like a wandering troubadour in desperate need of an audience.”
“Ah,” He mused, running a hand down his face. “I see now. It’s not the stories you dislike. It’s the company.”
She raised an eyebrow, her steps slowing as she glanced at him, amused. “Company? Well, I can’t exactly have someone trailing behind me, blabbering about flowers all day, can I?”
Her heart was in her throat. Guinevere couldn’t remember a time when conversation was so light… so easy. The friendly bickering between her and her knight-to-be could almost be considered cordial.
Everyone kept her at arm’s length. She was the timid, leashedqueen. Thinking back to the last year, she couldn’t remember a time when shesmiled, let alone felt comfortable enough to tease.
Her entire being ached. Ofcourse,he was easy to talk to. You didn’t talk your way into beds, intoknighthood, by being dull.
Lancelot’s smirk only widened as he caught up, his pace matching hers once again. “Ah, but who else wouldyouhave to listen to? It seems I’m the only one foolish enough to endure yoursilence.”
Her grin softened, her mind working hard to convince her not to fall for his charms. “It’s not silence. It’s just… selective speech.”
“I see.” Lancelot made a dramatic show of placing his hand over his heart. “That’s very gracious of you, Your Grace. How fortunate I am to bechosenas your conversational partner.”
“I’mnotsure I’d call it achoice,” she teased, flicking him a sidelong glance. “It’s more like… my hands are bound and you are the one with the key, good knight.”
His smirk faltered slightly, eyes narrowing as the words landed heavier than she expected.
“Arthur assigned you to break me, did he not?” She quipped, feeling bolder than she had in days.
Lancelot stepped closer, invading her space. The world around them felt charged, as if the air itself had thickened with something she wasn’t yet willing to name. “Break you?” His voice had dropped to a whisper, so low she almost couldn’t hear it. His hands hovered by her sides — just out of reach. “You think I want tobreakyou?”
“Isn’t that what your oldest and most trusted friend asked of you?” She breathed, “Is that not your duty?”
He moved slowly, his face inches from hers in the light. Her eyes fluttered closed, her heart racing as the closeness of his presencewrapped around her like a storm she couldn’t escape. She told herself she was ready, but her pulse betrayed her.
His forehead pressed against hers, hands cupping either side of her face as if she was fragile beneath his touch. Their breath mingling in the air around them, soft and synchronized, the heady scent of tinder surrounding her.
The tenderness of this moment was enough to break her, if she let it. “Guinevere, I-”
A nearby rustling forced her back to Camelot, back to the version of herself that shouldnotbe this close to one of her husband’s knights.
