He invaded her space, hands caging either side of her head. “And what kinds of propriety are you used to?” She managed, narrowing her eyes as the mischief leaked into his gaze.
“I’m so glad you asked.”
He moved closer, his body pressing her against the stone wall, and for a fleeting moment, Gwen wondered if she could breathe at all. His proximity felt like a storm — intense, unstoppable.
She might have been the Queen, but in this moment, with him so close, she was nothing more than a woman caught in the thunder of hisgaze.
His fingers brushed her cheek, a touch so light it could have been imagined, but sent a wave of heat through her. He lowered his head, slowly, cautiously. He hovered there, lips just a breath away from hers, waiting. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and then back to her eyes, silently asking permission.
She had every opportunity to move, to pull away and right the balance she had set off kilter. Her mind screamed at her to break free.
She could have stopped this.
So why did his lips brush hers, and why did she allow it?
Why did she tilt her head back, allowing this stranger deeper access to her?
Why did she stifle a moan as his hand clutched at her hip, fingers digging in through the fabric?
His other hand cupped her neck, thumb dragging along the line of her jaw. She clutched her hands at her side, her mind in throes with her body.
Or maybe… she wasn’t struggling at all. Her hands slipped up to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, holding him against her.
With his thumb, he crooked her head back further, groaning as his tongue danced across her lip. The sound deep, reverberating in the dark passage. The thrill of his reaction sent warmth straight to her core.
Begging for more.
Her mind reeled, blood ignited as she felt his hand steady on the curve of her hip. Had Arthur ever lit her veins on fire? Had sheeverknown desire like this?
Her dignity fought with her skin’s need to feel more of his touch, to taste more of him. Queen of Camelot should pull away. But Gwensearched desperately to find it in her.
“Stop,” she finally breathed, forcing herself to break away from the mystery that stood before. His hands were off her in an instant, stepping backwards.
She commanded her feet to run, to go back to her quarters and leave this moment here. To forget.
But then he drug his thumb across his bottom lip, pupils blown wide as he took in the sight of her. “Well,” he rasped, the corner of his lip turning upward. “My apologies, dove.”
Without a reply, without meeting his eyes, Gwen hurried away from him. But she felt his eyes on her until she turned a corner, felt the heat of his gaze until she was out of sight.
But the fire that he had ignited in her lapped at her insides for longer, still. She feared she might never be free from it.
2
The moon was high in the sky as she shut the door of her chambers quietly behind her. Heart still thrumming loudly in her chest, mind still racing as she tried to erase the last hour from her memory.
“My, wife, I hoped my sources had been incorrect.”
She jumped at the voice, forcing her back to reality. The mask that she held in her hand clattered to the ground. The sound echoing in the dark of her room.
Her husband sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed. “My king,” she said quickly, bowing. “What is the matter?”
“Of all the people in this court,” His eyes never left hers, stance unwavering as he watched her. “I never expected you to be the one playing in masks, Guinevere.”
She opened her mouth, just to shut it again. What was she supposed to say? Shehadbeen out, flaunting around with the lower members of their kingdom. “Your grace,”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, wife.”
“My lord,” she tried again, keeping her eyes low.
