But he pulled away much too soon.
“I’m not averse to you using me,mon amour, but you were just dealt a heavy blow, and I think perhaps…” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You shouldn’t let it fester, Guinevere,”
She folded her arms across her chest, a small, composed smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was steady enough to convince no one but herself. “I don’t need anything.”
“Nothing?” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering on her cheek. “Nothing at all?” His voice had dropped low, his other hand hovering at the curve of her hip.
Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips drew nearer, dipping to kiss the shell of her ear. “You’re the goddamn Queen of Camelot. And he invited you toyourkingdom’s celebration like you’re a guest of the crown.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to jerk away from him, but his grasp on her hip held her steady
“You’re fine… Of course you are, sure.” His breath was hot on her neck, scrambling her thoughts. “You don’t have to be, though.”
“I’m not angry about the invitation,” she finally confessed after a couple more moments of quiet.
“No?”
“I’m upset that Morgana planned it.” Her jaw tensed as she forced a steady breath through her nose. “She’s the queen in all but name, it feels like.”
“She could never be you.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, bending down to press a gentle kiss against her lips.
“It doesn’t matter.” She huffed, pulling away from him. “We should prepare.”
With another quick kiss, he ducked out of the room. Lunete and the rest of the queen’s ensemble of handmaidens trickled in. One of the women pulled a pale pink gown from her wardrobe, draping it on the bed.
“I hate that dress.” Guinevere frowned from the vanity. “Let’s do one of the green ones, or a navy? Oh! That golden dress with all that detailing?”
“King Arthur requested this dress, your grace,” Delphine, one of her younger maids, explained. “He said the pink looks ravishing with your hair.”
“Delphine,” Gwen turned to her maid. “Pink dress and red hair?” She laughed. “I’ll look like a jester. I’ll pick out a different dress. That way, there is no one is to blame but me.”
As she stood, she watched as a gentle smile curled across Delphine’s face. “Yes, Your Grace. I think the golden dress would look divine.”
With her gown buttoned, her hair loose and wild, and her skirts smoothed, Guinevere bolstered herself.
With Lancelot gone, her maids had trickled in one by one to assist with each part of her preparations.
Sir Bors awaited outside her chamber room door with a solemn expression. “Good evening, your grace.” He said with a bow. “Please allow me to escort you to tonight's celebration.”
The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Bors had always been kind to her, understanding how one’s father could make choices for your life without you ever having a say.
“His Grace instructed me to wait with you here, ma’am,” He said as they stopped near a side door to the Great Hall. “The King will call for you when he is ready.”
Guinevere did her best not to wring her hands as she waited. It had been hours since she had seen Lancelot. She knew he would be in this room, eventually.
Would she be able to manage her emotions?
Keep her heart in check?
The codependence she felt with him wasn’t rational, she knew that.
She had known him for less than a month, if you didn’t count all the time she spent recreating the memories of him in her head.
She had known she wasn’t happy with Arthur in Camelot. But she hadn’t realized howhappyshe could be until Lancelot forced his way into her heart.
Her pulse thundered in her ears when the door opened, a servant beckoning them inside. Sir Bors bowed again before taking his leave.
As she stepped into the Hall, Arthur’s voice echoed around her. “There she is,” His arm was outstretched towards where she entered, “your beloved queen.”
