“Gwen.” his hands were shaking. “I have to.”
She nodded, but the tears were already spilling down her cheeks. “Just for a moment, please, Lance.” Her inkling, her intuition had been correct.
Poison.
She felt foolish as she trembled. Emotions running high as she began to wrap her mind around what happened. Someone had tried topoisonher.
He stepped forward again, pulling her against him. He held her tight in his arms, holding the pieces of her together before she had the chance to fully fall apart. “You’re safe.” He said, though his usual confidence seemed missing. “I swear it.”
“I believe you,” she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, fingers clenching tight to him.
He pulled back, gently cradling her face in his hands. “I’ll beback before the sun shifts. Lock the door behind me.”
His lips were warm when he pressed them against her forehead, the final straw that caused her to break down. She nodded, swiping the tears from her cheeks as he turned his back to her. “Hide the cloak,” he nodded towards the cloth she was still wrapped up in. “Highly improper,” and with a wink, he shut the door behind him.
A blush crept up her neck as she locked the door after him. Quickly, she took off the cloak and stuffed it under her pillows, certain no one would check there.
Feeling instantly cold, she wrapped herself up in a shawl and perched herself at the end of her bed, eyes glued to the tray of food.
Poison?
She had been queen for several years now. She and Arthur had wed when she had turned nineteen. She was, by no means, the perfect queen — but poison?
Her heart lurched as she thought about the young girl who brought her food, praying she wouldn’t be punished. Gwen sincerely did not think that a child would be the one to poison the queen.
But then… who?
Her thoughts were a mess inside her brain, her pulse racing faster with each moment that passed.
Had they tried before?
How could she trust food from anyone’s hands again?
Another knock on the door, and Guinevere nearly jumped out of her skin. “Open the door, wife.” Her husband’s voice came from the other side. “It’s just me. Let me in.”
But… she couldn’t.
Arthur was her husband, the king of Camelot. But she couldn’tbe certain it wasn’t him that had planted the poison.
What a foolish thought — she immediately chided herself for thinking that he could be behind this. Although he was far from a kind and gentle husband, even Arthur would understand the public perception that would follow if his queen were to die from a poisoned drink.
He might be cruel, but he wasn’t stupid.
So why wouldn’t her feet move?
Why wouldn’t she let him in?
“Open the door, Guinevere.” His voice came again, a little more urgently this time. “Let your husband in.” He pounded on the wood.
“Not yet,” she managed, fighting back the tears, the fear.
He rapped on the door again, louder, angrier. “I won’t ask again, wife.” His voice rose, words clipped.
“Your grace,” another voice,hisvoice. “Let us in. Arthur is here. I have fetched the physician.”
And just like that, the fear melted away. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, he would protect her.
Protective to a fault. That’s how Morgana had described him.
