“Don’t play queen now, Guinevere,” His voice was sharp. “You were no queen tonight.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She did her best not to wring her hands as she avoided his gaze.
Her husband was older than her by several years. The curls of his bronze hair fell into his eyes as he tracked her movements. He was still as stone, never moving, never flinching.
“Where were you?” He asked, voice low.
She swallowed hard. “Walking.”
Finally, the statue moved. He tilted his head. “At this hour? In costume?”
Gwen didn’t answer, avoiding his gaze once more. She shuffled her feet, willing herself away.
“Then don’t insult me with lies, Guinevere.” There was no affection in her name. “I’ll not chase shadows when the truth stands silent before me. Morgana saw you.”
“Morgana–”
“Do not speak my sister’s name unless it is to atone for your sins, wife.” His voice grew harsher as he rose to his feet. She did her best not to shrink from him as he stepped closer. “We’ll have to do something about you, won’t we?”
“Arthur?” Her voice cracked, breathing hitched as she felt him draw near. She finally looked up, meeting his severe amber eyes. There was not an ounce of forgiveness available in his glare.
“You represent me. You represent all of Camelot. You must be dealt with.” The room fell quiet. Not even the wind dared slip under the door.
“What are you going to do, Arthur?” She found her voice, shaky.
He took a step closer, boots heavy on the stone floor. He gripped her chin tightly between his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You forget your place, Guinevere.” His eyes searched hers, cold — unyielding.
He pushed past her, his back to her as he wrenched the door open. “I will see you in the morning, wife. You will attend tomorrow’s meeting. This will not go unnoticed.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her in the silence. The weight of his words weighed heavy on her shoulders, stronger than any punishment he could have inflicted.
3
Her handmaiden, Lunete, dressed her in silence the following morning, cinching the folds of her dress behind her. Gwen’s stomach was leaping, a cold sweat across the back of her neck.
Whatever Arthur meant to do, whatever he had planned for her — it would happen this morning. Rarely did he call her to court, demanding her presence with his knights and his advisors.
“All finished, your grace.” The older woman chirped, bowing her head as the queen stood.“Are you quite alright, my queen?” Lunete tilted her head as she met Gwen’s eyes in the mirror. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Guinevere didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just gave a curt nod, fingers wringing her dress as she did so.
“Whatever it is, your highness, I’m certain it can’t be that bad.” Her maid had turned, her eyes soft and kind as she looked at the nervous queen. “You’re a good one, Guinevere. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, your grace.”
She walked away saying nothing else, but squeezed Gwen’s arm softly on her way out.
The halls of the palace seemed never ending in the sun's light. The statues seemed to jeer at her as she passed by.
Guinevere’s heart dropped as she neared the door to his meeting chamber, already hearing a commotion in the room. If he deemed her late, she would be in far greater trouble than she already found herself in.
She slid through the cracked door quietly, head down as she pressed back against the wall, waiting for acknowledgement. Her husband laughed, the sound foreign to her ears, echoing off of the walls around her.
She dared a glance in his direction, and found him clasping arms with a man taller than he, dark hair tied up on top of his head. Her husband grinned and slapped the man on the back, gesturing towards the table. “Please, Lancelot, it would be the highest honor to have you take a place at my table.”
“A knight of Camelot?” The visitor scoffed, shaking his head.
Her heart lodged in her throat, eyes wide as she cast them quickly down to her feet once more.
Surely-
It wasn’t possible.
