The queen inside her seized control. She took several steps away from him, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
“Who’s there?” Lancelot called, hand twitching over the knife on his belt. “Show yourself.”
She didn’t miss how he moved in front of her, shoulders squared. Every inch of him a shield between her and the sound.
“Your grace,” A voice called, stepping into view. “Forgive the intrusion.”
A breadth of tension slipped from her shoulders as she sidestepped the knight in front of her. Her fingers brushed his arm, a silent acknowledgement of his protection — but the spark that she felt as she touched his skin left her mouth dry.
“There is nothing to forgive, squire.” She nodded her head at the young boy in front of her. “What news do you bring?”
“The steward has been awaiting your input on tomorrow’s excursion to the orphanage, your highness.” The squire did not look her in the eye. “Asked me to relay that since you have missed the meeting, and he can no longer prepare a guard for you.” The boy blushed.
Gwen stilled. The boy’s words hung heavy in the air, heavier than they had any right to be. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.
“The guard is no longer available?” she echoed, her voice soft, but clipped.
The squire shifted uncomfortably. “The steward said the window for planning has passed. He has reassigned the men.”
Of course he had. Her silence stretched too long, and she felt Lancelot’s eyes on her.
“Very well,” she said finally, her tone even, regal. “Tell the steward I will attend to the matter another day.”
The boy bowed and retreated, leaving behind a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
She didn’t look at Lancelot. Couldn’t.
“I shouldn’t have let you distract me,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“Gwen, I-”
But she was already past him, walking back towards the palace.
“Guinevere!” She heard him calling after her, but she did not turn. Her only mission was to retreat to her sole sanctuary.
Unfortunately, it took no time for his long strides to catch up, grabbing her by the wrist.
“Let go of me.” She spoke in a controlled, bitter voice.
His grip on her wrist loosened, but did not fall away. “You’re not angry at me, my queen.”
“I am.” She spat back over her shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. “At you, at the steward, at… at myself.” She blinked hard, tilting her chin towards the sun as if its warmth could melt away her tears. “I told the children I would come…”
“We’ll find you another guard, Gwen.” His voice was so sure, so confident in his ability.
“What hurts the most is that Ilovegoing out into the city, Lancelot. I am freer outside the walls of this palace.” She laughed harshly. “It’s just another punishment.”
“My queen-” He started, but stopped quickly when she tugged her wrist out of his grip.
“I don’t need your reassurance,friend of Arthur.” She sneered, holding her wrist to her chest as if his touch had burned her. “Go now, report back on how broken I am after just one day.”
“Is that-”
“He’s winning, knight. That’s what he wanted. That’s your goal.” Her words sliced through the air, each one landing with a weight that she hoped suffocated him. “Run along, do what you were sent to do.”
A gasp escaped from her lips as she felt herself being pulled back. Lance’s hand gripped her shoulder as he turned her to face him.
He wasn’t gentle about it.
