The knight laughed, “For a queen, you lack in grace, Guinevere.” He teased, tugging her against his side and curling his arm around her shoulders.
She couldn’t care less about his playful jabs. Between the warmth of his cloak, and the heat from his body, her eyes were suddenly very heavy. “I hope you don’t get any ideas,” she yawned, allowing her eyes to rest for just a moment. “I still think you’re improper.”
The last thing she remembered from that night was a gentle laugh, and maybe as she drifted off… something quiet, soft, whispered against her hair.
“Too late.”
10
She awoke the next morning, surrounded by the smell of him. The smell of lumber and smoke, of leather and sweat. She reached for him, for the warmth that he offered. But the bed beside her was cold.
Guinevere sat up, looking around her chambers. The sun filtered in the windows, but her room was otherwise empty. “Lance?” She called into the morning air. That was when she realized she was still cocooned in his cloak, the aged leather soft in her hands.
The orphanage.
Pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders, she nestled back into her bed. With a soft smile on her face, she allowed herself, once again, to pretend.
But a knock on her door cut her daydreams short.
She rose, debating for a moment whether she should discard the cloak before opening the door — just to quell any rumors.
She decided against it.
A young maid stood on the other side of the door with her breakfast. “Good morning m’lady.” The girl said with a bow.
“You’re new.” Gwen opened the door with a smile. “Welcome to Camelot.”
The girl did not answer, simply bowed her head low and set thetray of food on the table, scurrying from the room quickly after.
“Strange…” she mused, trying to place the girl. Guinevere did her best to be as kind to her handmaidens as she could be…
Her bones still ached with exhaustion, and she craved the comfort of her bed. As she went to slip back under the covers, another knock came at her door, this one harder.
With a quiet groan, she opened the door again, greeted this time by her knight. “Good morning, your grace,” Lancelot said with a grin, quirking an eyebrow as he noticed his cloak tightly wrapped around her. “Did you sleep well?”
Her face felt warm as she turned her back to him. “Come in,” she muttered, going towards the window, hoping he wouldn’t catch the flush across her cheeks.
“Did you eat?” she heard him ask, closer now. Gwen turned her head a tad. He was standing by her tray of food, arms crossed.
“No. I was going to, I just -” She stopped, scrunching her nose as she looked for the right words. “I didn’t recognize the maid that brought my food.”
“Paranoid, your grace?” He teased, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit of truth in his lilt. He lifted the goblet to his lips, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Until his entire face turned sour. “Who brought this to you?” He asked, setting the cup down. “Have you hadanyof it?” He moved so quickly, his hands were on her shoulders, clutching tightly to her. “Guinevere, how much did you have?”
“N-none,” she stuttered, trembling under the weight of his stare.
“Thank God.” He breathed, but he did not relinquish his grip on her.
She blinked up at him, wide eyed, “Lance… What was it?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped back just enough to grab the goblet, sniffing it again before pouring the contents into the washbasin by her bed. The liquid hissed faintly as it met the metal. “I don’t know.” His voice shook with a barely restrained fury. “But I’ve trained with poisons. It was many years ago, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone tampered with your wine.
A chill licked up her spine that had nothing to do with the morning air. Her mouth suddenly dry, stomach threatening to heave. The knight turned to face her once more. “I need you to stay here. I’m going to fetch Arthur and the court physician. Eat nothing, let no one else in.”
“Please don’t go.” Her voice was suddenly small.
He froze.
