“I am nothing if not entirely bought into the cause, brother.” Lancelot gave a bow that, somehow, felt mocking.
“When did you become sonoble, du Lac?”
“Just trying to play my part, friend.” The knight was the pictureof ease, hands settled loosely on his hips, an almostboredlook on his face.
“Wife, come,” Arthur beckoned for her, and she had to oblige.
She did, however, notice how Lancelot’s shoulders stiffened as he called for her.
Arthur took her hand, pulling her to his side. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the scruff of his beard, more fuzz than facial hair, scratched against her skin.
She didn’t intend to compare the two men, but she couldn’t help it when Lancelot stood before her, stance wide, looking as if carved from marble and shadow.
And she belonged to a man whose beard looked like it might blow away with a strong breeze.
Gwen bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing away the smile that threatened with her childish thoughts.
“Guinevere,” her king pulled her from her head, dragging her eyes away from the other man in the room. “Why were you not present for your meeting with the steward?”
There it was, the cutting of his voice, the snideness that would go unnoticed by anyone else.
“I went for a walk in the gardens.”
“You and your walks, wife. Always getting you in trouble.”
“Ah, if there’s blame to be had for her majesty’s walk, it is on me, Arthur.” Lancelot stepped in, stepped closer. She could feel tension leaking off of him, while still looking unbothered.
“You, du Lac? How did her misgivings fall into your hands?”
“I suggested some sun, some fresh air. I understand my role, Arthur. But she does not deserve of a prison sentence.”
Gwen felt her fingers twitch towards her knight, unwillingly. An unspoken need to assure him, to let him know he didn’t have to rile the king up anymore.
But her slight gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Arthur’s eyes flicked down to her hand, before back up to her eyes. His stare faltered with hostility, but only for a moment. “I’ll see that you have an escort arranged, wife. I need Lancelot here with me.”
“Thank you.”
“No,” They spoke at the same time. Lancelot’s words came across stern where Gwen tried to be compliant.
“I beg your pardon?” Her heart thrummed in her ears as she watched her husband’s face redden. “This is my kingdom, boy.”
“And I was found near a lake and raised in a children’s home, Arthur. I follow no kings.” Lancelot took a steadying breath. “But you are my oldest friend. Let me do what you have assigned me to do. Her grace and I will leave at first light tomorrow, and we will return by evening meal.”
“I did not assign a babysitter, du Lac.”
“I believe you did, brother. First light, we take our leave. Thank you.”
Leaving no room for denial, for rebuttal, or for rebukes, Lancelot turned on his heels, offering his arm to Guinevere.
And there, before her very eyes, was her choice.
The king who seethed just below the surface at her every move. Her husband, with whom she was wed and vowed to before God and their country.
Or her knight.
A man who forced his way into her life at a midnight masquerade,whose kiss still lingered on her lips.
Shit.
