“Thank you, my king.” She stretched up on her toes, pressing a kiss to her cheek with a soft smile. “I appreciate your grace.” She bowed her head towards where her king stood, looking more confused than angry.
She did not take the arm of the knight, choosing instead to fall in step just behind him, head bowed and hands clasped.
But as she walked through the threshold… she couldn’t help the way her lips ticked upwards gently.
“Don’t look so pleased, Guinevere.” Lancelot teased from a few steps ahead. “You were useless in there without me.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you were there.”
9
She rose before the sun, excitement blossoming in her stomach. Gwen quickly donned one of her more plain dresses, twisting her hair into plaits and pinning them on top of her head.
It was everything she could do to keep from skipping out of the room.
She would spend her day outside the palace walls. In a place where she feltuseful, and she wouldn’t have to attend to whichever guards or squires that Morgana saw fit to assign to her.
Truly, this had the makings of one of the best trips outside the palace she had been allowed.
Guinevere opened the door quickly, slamming directly into a large figure.
“Well, good morning to you too, your grace.” Lancelot’s voice was still thick with sleep, his hair hanging in dark, loose curls. He steadied her, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “You’re chipper this morning.”
Without thinking, she curled her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt. She could have easily lost herself in the steady beat of his heart.
All at once, she remembered herself, pulling back.
But his hands were already circling around her, one arm holding her tight against him, the other gently playing with the loose strands of hair on her neck. “Make a habit of this, your grace.”
And Gwen… allowed herself to be held for just a moment longer. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could remember the last time she felt so wholly embraced — so safe.
After a beat, she did the dutiful thing and wormed her way out of his grip, pretending to straighten out any wrinkles in her dress. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for.” She said, eyes on the floor as a light blush sprinkled her skin.
“But not unwelcome.” He tipped her chin up gently, meeting her eyes with kindness. “Come, queen, I am a man of my word.”
Outside the walls of the castle, Gwen felt alive. The wind whipped her cheeks with a gentle fervor, the sunlight warmed her very bones. The pair of them walked along a beaten path, passing groves and meadows.
“How old are you, queen?” Lance asked, breaking through the comfortable silence.
She shied away from his gaze. “Seventeen.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, jaw hanging open. “You’re-” He spluttered, dragging his hand through his hair, “There’s no…”
“Close your mouth, knight.”
“You’re a child.”
“I’mlying.”
His glare made the moment all the more worth it. His eyes narrowed as he watched her, grinning. “You’ll be the death of me.”
And… Gwen giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was shy and surprised, as if she'd forgotten she still could.
"Careful, dear," he murmured, mock-serious as he offered his arm. "Someone might mistake us for people who enjoy each other's company."
She took it anyway, a smile tugging at her lips. "What a scandal that would be."
He shifted, resting his free hand atop hers with a gentle squeeze. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
