Lancelot’s voice was like steel drawn slow from its sheath. “You’d strike the one man who’d protect her?”
“I am her husband!” Arthur bellowed. “Herking!”
“Then act like one,” Lancelot snarled. “Because right now — you’re acting like a beast.”
Guinevere couldn’t move. Her back was to the wall, breath coming short and sharp, like she’d just run a battlefield.
Lancelot turned to her again. “Go.” His voice softened. “Now.”
She wanted to listen, but her legs were unsteady beneath her. She was frozen — skirts clutched in shaking hands, head down.
But he turned back to Lancelot. “You think this doesn’t have consequences?” he spat. “You think you can raise a sword against your king, interfere in hismarriage, and walk away untouched?”
Lancelot’s lip bled as he smiled. “You wish to talk about interference?” he said quietly. “Maybe we should start with what you’ve done to yourwife.”
Arthur lunged again, but this time, the knight was ready. He caught the king’s arm mid-swing, twisting just enough to make Arthur grunt and stumble.
“I don’t want your throne,” Lancelot whispered, close to Arthur’s ear. “But Iwillburn your kingdom to the ground before I let you hurt her.”
He let go.
Arthur stared at him, rage flickering beneath disbelief. “You love her,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Lancelot didn’t answer. “Go, Guinevere.” He said again, firmer this time.
Her feet moved, even though she might not have willed them. She couldn’t be here.
She was weak.
She should have been able to stand in the face of her husband, standbesideLancelot.
But she couldn’t.
As she turned to leave, she heard her husband laugh. “No, you don’t. You’re not that stupid.”
35
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
Guinevere had meant to pace, to sit up, to wait for him to come for her.
But the bed looked welcoming. The call of the otherness was so easy for her to slip into, like a second skin wrapping her up in sorrow and warmth. Her eyes stung, chest ached. Every time she blinked, she saw Arthur’s face. Or worse — Lancelot’s.
The blood at the corner of his mouth.
The fury in his eyes.
She turned into the pillows and let the tears come. Quiet at first — then wrecking. Until eventually… nothing.
She didn’t hear the door open, or the lock slide into place behind him.
It was only when the mattress dipped, when his arms came around her — warm andreal, that she stirred.
“I’m here,” He whispered, pressing his lips to her hair as his body curved to fit hers.
“I tried to stay awake,” she whispered, her voice thick with the strain of tears.
“I know,” Lancelot brushed her hair out of her face, rubbing the pad of his thumb gently against the tear stains on her cheeks.
