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She looked directly at Lancelot when she added:
“Tonight is for you and me, my love. No one else.”
Lancelot watched them depart with a heavy heart and leaden soles. He was veritably rooted to his spot, unable to comprehend these new circumstances.
Arthur wasmarried.
Was this the “someone” that Arthur spoke of? A person to call his own. Who belonged to him, and to whom he belonged?
He was leaving Lancelot, for the first time since they’d struck this partnership—alone.
His hands fisted and unfisted at his sides. He wanted to bash something in. Wanted to cleave the wooden thrones in two. Wanted to wreak havoc on anyone standing in his way.
So, perhaps it was prudent that Arthur’s men and the crowd at large gave him wide berth as he stalked out of the great hall.
Very much alone.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
It wasn’t until three days later that Lancelot managed to corner Arthur by himself.
The Queen was always with him, practically clinging to his person, arms wrapped around one of his or holding his hand, hugging his waist. The arm Arthur sometimes looped around Guinevere, by contrast, seemed wooden to Lancelot’s eye.
But that could just be wishful thinking.
“My King,” he said in a low voice from the shadows of a great oak as Arthur walked past.
“I would speak with you privately.”
Arthur abruptly stopped in his long-legged, purposeful strides and stared at Lancelot, his eyes blank of recognition.
“Follow me,” Lancelot requested, gesturing with his hand.
“Please.”
Arthur glanced away for a moment, as if he expected someone to stop him from going. When he saw that there was no one around, he took one step in Lancelot’s direction. Then another. And another. As if he had to fight his own body to walk toward Lancelot.
Lancelot led them to a secluded glen at the bottom of a hill. No one would come across them here, unless they knew exactly where to look.
Once alone, he turned to face Arthur, forcing the other man to come to an abrupt halt or run right into him.
“Why did you do it?” he demanded.
“Why did you marry?”
Arthur simply stared at him with those opaque, soulless eyes.
Whatwasthat color? Lancelot couldn’t tell. It was dark and muddy. Not even a hint of Arthur’s brilliant blue could be found.
“Do you…want her? Need her?” he persisted. “Is she th-the one?”
He didn’t want to say the words. Some part of him knew he wouldn’t like the answer. But Lancelotneededto know the truth. He needed Arthur to tell him explicitly, so there could be no mistake.
Arthur licked his lips, and Lancelot’s gaze helplessly followed the flick of his tongue.
It seemed a lifetime ago that he’d kissed those lips and sucked upon that tongue. Even though his memories were hazy, he knew what happened between them. He could still taste Arthur, even if the exact flavors were too elusive to pin down.
“Aye,” the King finally said.
