A kind face, a scorching kiss from the night before.
A stern voice, a tense stance from the meeting room.
Her husband’s childhood friend. The husband that kept her leashed, controlled, and contained.
How could he be any different?
“Breathe, Queen.” He said, his voice laced with a kindness, a gentleness that she hadn’t heard since she was younger. “I am going to take three steps that way-” he jerked his thumb away from the door. “And if you slip into your room for a quiet, undisturbed moment alone, who would I be to stop you?”
Her lip quivered as she looked at him. “I promise you, my lady, Iwill not cross the threshold of your room unless I believe you are in danger.”
His eyes sparkled for a moment, the mischief she had seen last night leaking into his gaze. “Or — I am invited.”
And he winked at her.
Honest to God, her jailor — for all intents and purposes — winked at her.
“Guinevere,” she managed, trying to smile at him. “Gwen, actually. I prefer Gwen.”
“Very well, Lady Gwen.” The smile on him was dazzling. He snatched her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her flushed skin. “I will be here if you need me.”
Quickly, without another glance, she shut the door behind her. Even with the assumed kindness from her guard, her emotions were wound tight. Leaning against the door, she bit back a sob, knowing Lancelot would be close enough to hear.
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her fallout.
Guinevere sunk to the ground, hands gripping the fabric of her skirts as tears dampened her cheeks. With her back still to the door, she pressed her fist to her mouth, fighting against the whimper that rose in her throat.
And yet, as the tears came, it wasn’t Arthur’s face that lingered in her mind, but the glint in the eyes of the man on the other side of the door.
5
She didn’t remember crawling into bed, but she awoke with the sun on her face. Her stomach rumbled loudly, forcing her to face the day. She denied her maids when they brought her meals to the door yesterday, and she was paying for it now.
Gwen sat up in the bed, blankets pooling around her as she took stock of herself. She was still in the dress she wore yesterday, and a layer of tears dried upon her cheeks. Her eyes felt puffed.
She stood, muscles aching from the day spent in bed. Her dress rumbled and stained with tears. With a gentle stretch, she reached around to the ties, falling just short of the loops. Guinevere huffed, reaching around again — to no avail.
Her maids would have already come by and left, but she would not call them back.
I will be here if you need me.
His voice echoed in her mind, heat crawling up her neck. She bolstered herself, closing the distance between her and the door. Gently, she cracked it, squinting at the invasive morning light.
There he stood, leaning against the wall, an apple in one hand, a small knife in the other. His eyes snapped up to hers almost instantly. “Good morning, my lady — Gwen, that is.”
“I need help.” She mustered, avoiding his intense gaze.
“Anything,” He sheathed the knife on his belt, set the apple on a ledge behind him.
“I can’t… I can’t reach the ties.” Her face flushed deeper, words trailing off as the heat flared in her cheeks.“Could you fetch one of my ladies?”
“Of course.” He stepped forward with the caution one might use with a wounded animal. “Who am I looking for?”
“Edith, Lunete, Delphine…” She winced, realizing his ladies were strangers to him. “Anyone, really.”
“Anyone?” And the grin on his face made her flush deeper.
“Anyladyyou can find, sir knight.”
