But it didn’t come, not right away.
She was left, broken, on her perfectly pristine mattress.
The sun shone through the window, warming her bare skin, greeting the day.
And all she could think about was howemptyshe felt. There was no weight of an arm slung over her midsection. There were no fingers thrumming a nonsensical rhythm across the skin of her stomach.
There was no breath, warm and encapsulating, caressing her neck, her shoulders.
Everything was cold and barren. It was almost clinical.There was no life in this room; there had been no love within these walls.She was sobbing again, tear tracks staining her cheeks, the blankets she lay on.
Sleep finally took her.
A knock came from the other side of the door some time later, pulling her from a restless sleep.
“Your grace,” one of her maidens called. “His majesty requested you for dinner. Asked us to assist.”
“Come in,” she said halfheartedly. The bed was empty. It wouldn’t have been anything else… She knew that. But it was still a blow to her chest.
She never realized how big it was.
Lunete flitted about the room, prepping her clothes, coaxing her out of bed.
Once they got her settled at the vanity, an older woman began the arduous task of taming her hair.
“I’d like to leave it down,” Guinevere asked, her voice not as strong as she had hoped.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She shook her head, wearing a sad smile that might have shown a glimpse of understanding. “We have orders. His Majesty wanted your hair pulled up for dinner.”
Gwen nodded, clutching her dress between her hands, searching for a feeling other than the overwhelming loneliness.
Her servants finished quickly, without another word, and departed. “The king will send someone to fetch you for dinner, miss.” Was the last thing her favored maid said before her heavy door shut again.
She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, but unlike the day prior, the eyes that looked back at her were hollow.
Quickly, she wrestled some of her hair from the tight bun that sat atop her head, unraveling pieces that would frame her face.
And as her auburn curls brushed against her cheeks, color filled her face, and she smiled.
He would be cross with her, if he noticed.
A knock at the door pulled her from her act of rebellion, causing her heart to stutter in her chest.
She rose, steeling herself for the evening. She pulled her sleeves down, brushing any kinks out of her dress. He would not see her broken.
She would not waste away.
That was her thought until the face on the other side of the door was not the king… The eyes she met were the only ones she had been missing.
“Good evening, my queen.” Lancelot offered her a tight smile. “May I escort you to dinner?”
Her eyes burned as she took him in. His clothes were clean, wearing a long tunic decorated with the crest of Camelot. His hair wasloose around his face, his eyes drawing her in.
It took all of her self control not to fling herself into his arms, to allow herself the feeling of beingseen.
She took his arm, fingers clenching against the fabric of his sleeve. So many eyes, so many faces.
Guinevere squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up high. She could do this.
