Unable to meet his tender gaze, she reached for his hand, drawing her fingers over a scar on his wrist. “I didn’t… learn it in kindness.” Her voice wavered. “But you…” She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t fall apart. Not now. “Thank you.”
He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “Thank me?” His jaw dropped open. “Why, love?”
“I get to rewrite it with you.” She was going to cry, she felt it. “I get to reframe loveless touches and harsh commands. I get tolove,Lancelot.”
He gently grabbed her thighs, scooting her closer to him. He kissed her softly as they cramped together in the tub. “I love you, Guinevere.”
They sat in the gentle quiet of the morning. Exchanging gentle kisses, tender laughs, and lingering touches. Maybe the water chilled, maybe her fingers wrinkled, but she didn’t care. He was here.
He’s alive.
“Lancelot?” She asked, looking up at him. He had shifted them, pulling her back against his chest. His hands laced together over her stomach as he pressed soft kisses to her neck.
“Hmm?” He asked, nuzzling his nose behind her ear.
“Why did Sir Gawain and Sir Percival not come back to Camelot at the same time as you?”
He chuckled against her skin. “Our horses didn’t make it.”
“Zeus?” Gwen gasped, eyes wide.
He nodded, fingers coming up to brush the tear off of her cheek. “We were about a fortnight from the kingdom on foot. We rested in a town one night and I… procured a horse.”
“Lancelot!” Guinevere turned her head, trying to meet his gaze. “You stole someone’s horse?”
“Hush, you petulant thing.” She could hear the grin in his words. “I left it at the stable on the outskirts of Camelot, saying I found him lost.”
“No one knows you’re here?”
“Just you, my love. Only you.”
They finally left the bath, Lancelot wrapping her up in a linen towel with a smile. He quickly fetched some clean clothing that he had left behind, tugging a clean pair of breeches once he was back in the room.
“We can’t just… stay locked in here forever.” Guinevere bit her bottom lip as she sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Of course we can.”
“Lance, Gawain, and Percival know you didn’t perish. Arthur will want to know about the Grail.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it.
“Lancelot-” she stuttered, hand coming up to her heart. “I didn’t ask you to, dear.”
29
They fell asleep tangled up in one another. Gwen wasn’t sure how she had ever slept any other way.
His body curved against hers, his fingers brushing skin in sleep, clutching, claiming. Gentle kisses across her throat as they drifted off, across her jaw, her shoulders.
They belonged to each other, the way it was always supposed to be.
Sometime in the night, she was awoken by a whimper, a quiet plea. Opening her eyes, she found Lancelot on the other side of the bed, completely removed from her. He whispered her name.
A gasp tore from his throat, sharp and strangled, and he bolted upright, chest heaving like he’d run for days. His skin was slick with sweat, sticking to the linen sheets. One hand gripped the edge of the mattress like he might fall off the world.
“Lance?” Her voice was soft. Drowsy. Full of concern.
He flinched, but he didn’t answer.
