His eyes met hers and for a moment, neither of them moved. “You look villainous.” He grinned, stepping closer to where she stood. “Dangerous.” His hand brushed the skin across her back. “Merciless.”
His hands quickly fastened the buttons, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck above the top one.
“And you?” She turned, holding him in her sights. She smoothed her hand down the front of his tunic. “Just a minute.” From a vase on her vanity, she plucked two lilies, white as snow. She twisted the stem off of one.
Deftly, she secured it right over his heart.
She tucked the other one behind her ear into her wild, untamed hair.
“You look like my savior.” She whispered, tugging him down bythe lapel of his tunic. Guinevere kissed him quickly. “Strap on your sword, champion. We have places to be.”
Lancelot did not step away, curling his hand against her neck. With his thumb, he tipped her head back further, kissing her deeper. “Staggered entrances,mon amour,” he breathed, his lips brushing hers. “You first.” Lips crashed down on hers, moving in time. “You know I love to make a scene.”
30
As she stepped out of the safety of her room, a wave of panic coursed through her.
This was treason.
Adultery.
Sin.
But that wasn’t the fear that ate at her. She had made her choices, and she wouldn’t regret them.
But Lancelot?
He didn’t deserve to rot because of her.
Guinevere took a steadying breath as she walked into the meeting room, already hearing voices talking over one another.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, a severe look on his face.
Immediately on his right — in Guinevere’s seat — sat Morgana. Hand on her stomach, sly grin on her face.
Gawain and Percival were both there as well, having spared no time to clean up or change clothing.
The three men spoke loudly over one another.
She approached the table as her eyes caught Arthur’s.
“Wife,” He sneered, silencing the room with a single word. “Idon’t believe my men invited you to this morning’s meeting.”
“I am the Queen of Camelot.” She responded, seating herself at the table. “I don’t need an invitation.”
Before the king had a chance to respond, another noise cut through the tension in the room.
The sound of boots in the hall.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Heavy.
Guinevere bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to keep her smile in check. She was invincible by his side.
After a moment more of the terse silence, the large door pushed open. Lancelot strode in, hand resting lazily on his sword.
