Gwen hummed in agreement, gently leaning her head against his shoulder. “Twenty-three.” She said softly. “What about you?”
“Thirty-one.” He turned, pressing his lips into her hair. “At least, that’s what they tell me. I believe I was around two when a knight found me by the lake.”
Her heart stuttered at the familiar, yet achingly intimate, motion. She wasn’t even sure he realized what he had done — but she was unmoored with the single action.
“Which-” Her voice snagged, “Which lake?”
Lance stopped in his tracks, turning to face her as he shrugged. “I’m not sure, truthfully. The knight brought me to Camelot, and I never saw him again.”
“Oh, Lance.” She reached up, hand moving of its own accord. Her finger skirted across the length of his jaw, sparks crackling against her skin as she did. “I’m sorry.”
She curled her hand into a fist before she could touch him again, the feeling of his bearded chin suddenly addicting. His eyes reflected the fire she felt in her veins as he held her there. “Du Lac…” Gwen’s face twisted. “Your name… is Lancelot of the Lake?”
A loud laugh burst forth from her knight. “Yes, queen. Lancelot of the Lake, at your service.” He gently jabbed his elbow into her ribswith a smile.
Again, her heart stirred in her chest.
He touched her like she was just… Gwen.
Not Queen Guinevere.
Not the wife of King Arthur.
She had never gotten to bejust Gwen. And her heart tugged her closer to him, deeper into the comfortable companionship Lancelot seemed to carry with him.
She was in trouble.
After a moment of the silence that clung to the air around them, Guinevere let out her own, breathless, laugh. “That’s cruel.” She said, eyes sparkling as she looked at the man that had captivated her every sense.
The man that had, somehow, wormed his way into her very being in less than a fortnight.
“No crueler than a queen flirting with her appointed guard instead of visiting orphans, I’d say.”
She shifted slightly, the teasing glint in her eyes softening. “You’re right — of course. We should go.”For the second time today, she untangled herself from the warmth of him, and set out.
The town was in their sights when his hand brushed against hers. Her breath caught once more, the ache of desire warring with the decorum of the queen.
But she didn’t have to make the choice. He laced his fingers through hers without a word, offering a reassuring squeeze. “Lead the way, Guinevere. This old brain cannot remember the path.”
The walk to the orphanage wasn’t long, but it left space forGwen to, for a moment, imagine what life might have been like had Uther Bendragon not caught her father’s ear before she had been born.
A life filled with folly, with gentle brushes of hands, tuneless whistling, and tender kisses. A life where she wasn’t analyzing and fighting her partner’s every move.
A life where she didn’t have to sneak out to feel free.
“Just over there,” She said, nodding towards the large building. The sounds of children were already drifting towards them.
“Your grace!” A small voice shouted.
“The Queen!” Another joined.
Before long, many small faces had joined them outside, each one with a wide grin. “We’ve missed you, Queen Gwen!”
“Come come, inside we go.” She shooed them back towards the children’s home, unable to tamp down her own smile. She glanced quickly back at Lancelot, smile softening as she mouthed a quietthank you.
“Sir Knight,” one of the women called for him, ushering him inside the home. “We are grateful that you have escorted her majesty here to see the children.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched as Lancelot waved his hand, his smile widening. “It was no trouble. She is unlike any other.”
