Guinevere couldn’t breathe.
Not from Arthur’s hand. But from something deeper. Somethingworse.
Because Lancelot had said it. Said itout loud. Not in stolen moments or whispered prayers.
He had called her his queen.
He had claimed her.
And he had done it where Arthur could hear.
Her lungs stuttered around the air. Her throat ached. Her fingers trembled where they pressed to the wall for balance.
She should have been afraid.
She feltholy.
His words rang inside her like a church bell at the world’s end. And she knew — no matter what Arthur did next, she would never bow to him again. Not truly. Not in her heart.
Because someone had seen her. Chosen her. Claimed her not for her womb or her crown, but for hersoul.
Her eyes found Lancelot.
He hadn’t looked back at her. He was still staring down the king, every inch the knight.
“The story you’ve crafted so carefully falls apart now that I’ve returned, Arthur.” Lancelot continued, eyes holding the king firmly. “I did not sleep with your sister. I spent thatentirenight right here. In this room, holdingyour wife. If you so much as harm a hair on her head, brother. I will not hesitate to share the truth.”
“And when the baby is born?” Arthur laughed like he had caught them in his web. “You will raise him? Be the doting father and loyal husband?”
“Fuck, no.” Lancelot echoed his laughter, shaking his head. “It just gives you two lovebirds time to figure out your story. I will not raise that child.”
Her heart still stuttered in her chest. She could still feel Arthur’s hand clenching around her throat.
But she would bedamnedif she continued to stand here, silent, and let Lancelot take the fall for this entire thing.
“Get out.”
“Oh, the little queen has found her voice.” Arthur turned on her.
Her eyes were already on Lancelot. Bruising flecked around her throat as their eyes met. She blinked back tears, smiling softly. “Let him raise his voice.” Her words were quiet — not afraid, but sacred. “I have already chosen you.”
The tension cracked like a fault line beneath them. Her voice was not defiant. It wasdevoted. Soft as confession, sure as scripture.
He reached for her hand, his fingers wrapped around hers with reverence. He brought her hand to his chest, right over his heart, and held it there.
Arthur scoffed behind them, bitter and brittle. “You think this little performance will last?” His voice cracked through the quiet. “He’ll leave. They always do. And you’ll be alone, again.” He laughed. “That’s what he does, wife. He leaves.”
Arthur's laughter bounced off the walls, harsh and hollow, but Lancelot's voice, when it came, was steady — silent rage wrapped in unwavering certainty. “You can keep your prophecies, Arthur. She’s mine.” His hand came around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
“A rebellion born from the queen, fair and pure, her beauty unmatched, shall rise to challenge the throne. It will shake Camelot to its core, its power undone by what lies within her — by the love she holds and the heart she cherishes.”
A chill ran up Guinevere’s spine. Lancelot’s arm tightened around her. “She’smine.” Arthur snarled. “If you think for one second, I’ll let her out of my sight. You’re stupider than you appear.”
He took a step closer. Gwen tried not to flinch.
“I don’t care who she fucks. I don’t care if she fucks every man in this city. But she doesn’t leave the walls of Camelot again. If the whore is prophesied to end my kingdom with a child, then thank God her womb continues to fail her.”
Lancelot was tense beside her, poised like he was ready to strike.
