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“She is the one.”
“Liar,” Lancelot immediately rebuked.
The word simply flew out of his mouth without thought.
He crowded his torso against Arthur’s, pushing the man back a step with his chest until Arthur would be pushed no farther, holding his ground.
“How is it possible that she would appear so suddenly?” Lancelot demanded
“Out of nowhere. You have never mentioned her. Who is she?”
“She is the daughter of King Leodegrance of Cameliard,” Arthur said without inflection.
“It was love at first sight.”
Lancelot blinked with confusion and faltered back a step.
“L-love?”
A fissure seemed to snake beneath Arthur’s skin, distorting his face for a split moment. But it was gone so soon Lancelot thought he imagined it. The King’s generous mouth flattened into a thin line, all but disappearing into his beard.
When he spoke again, his face was blank once more.
“She is destined to be my Queen.”
Something was very wrong here. Beneath the haze of confusion and inexplicable hurt that clouded Lancelot’s judgement, he could still tell that Arthur was not himself.
And it had to do with Guinevere. Had she bespelled him somehow? He’d sensed something strange about her before, the way one creature of magic recognized another. Somehow, some way, she caught Arthur by the balls.
“She is a sorceress,” he blurted, unable to keep it in.
“Surely you can see this, Arthur. She has changed you. She—”
“She has changed me for the better,” the King said, standing straighter, his face a mask of determination.
“She is the woman I love. You are a mere knight in my troop. Speak ill of her again, and I will see you whipped for the transgression.”
Lancelot reeled back as if Arthur had punched him in the eye.
Before he could respond, a new voice joined them.
“There you are, my love,” said that melodious purr.
“I was wondering where you had gone. I do not like to awaken from a soothing nap to find my husband’s place besideme devoid of his warmth. Come, dearest one. Let us return to our rooms. I…have need of you.”
Guinevere said all this while staring unblinkingly into Arthur’s eyes. The more she spoke, the weaker he seemed to become. Until he was all but leaning on her to stay upright.
When she was done, she spared Lancelot a glinting glance.
“It is not wise to keep a man from his Destiny, sweet knight. And even more foolish to come between a mighty man such as Arthur and his lover.”
Lancelot blanched at the word “lover,” which she seemed to draw out with relish.
“You know what that means, do you not?”
She seemed to advance upon him without moving, as if her very aura was attacking him, pushing him back and away from Arthur.
“He belongs to me, youngling, not you. His body, his strength, his life—they aremine, forevermore.”
