by Kim Loraine
“Because Gabriel linked us in more ways than one. What happens to you happens to me. If you die, I will too.”
My chest tightens at the thought of something happening to her. But we’ll break the link and get her magic back. Then, maybe I’ll be able to let her go.
“You have my word. I’ll be on my best behavior.” There’s no way I’ll be letting her roam this treacherous city without me by her side. Dangers are everywhere. Automobiles ready to strike her down, men and women in strange clothing, some with bits of metal piercing their noses, brows, lips, unnatural colors pigmenting their hair. Any of them could mean her harm.
She turns on her heel and strides away, her small stature should cause her to be lost in the crowd, but Guinevere has always had a regal bearing. She commands respect in a subtle way. I catch up to her with little effort, my long legs closing the distance between us in a few steps. My palm finds the small of her back as naturally as if it were made to fit there. For a moment, the two of us are connected, walking together like two halves of the same whole. A pang of loss knifes my heart when she flinches away.
“Don’t do that. You don’t get to be my valiant knight anymore.”
“I don’t want to be. You never needed me and I was a fool to let you make me think any different.”
“Stop that. No reliving the past, remember?”
I lean close, my lips brushing her ear before I say, “As you wish, my queen.” Pleasure races over me at the effect my words have on her. The soft gasp, the stiffening of her slight shoulders, but to my disappointment, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she makes a sharp turn into a shop filled with fruits and vegetables, rows of brightly colored boxes with caricatures of animals drawn on them.
“Is this…a market?” I ask, taken in by the vast amount available. There’s no smell of dirt or meat that’s spent a little too much time in the sun. Everything is fresh and clean and wrapped in some sort of clear protectant.
“Yes. Things are much easier to acquire nowadays. Here we just put what we want in a trolley and pay for everything. No hunting required.” She grabs a wrapped package of what looks to be beef and hands it to me.
“What—”
“Steak. That clear stuff? It’s called plastic. It keeps the meat fresh and clean.”
I watch her inspect apples and pears carefully before placing her selections in the basket. We wander through aisle after aisle, her grabbing item after item, telling me what each one is and how to prepare the food. I feel like an incompetent child and it makes me angry. I’m not supposed to be here, lost in this new time. Until I was sent to purgatory, I’d been the one providing for Guinevere, keeping her safe, not the other way around.
She places our items on a moving black surface and I can’t help but stare. This must be witchcraft. I look at her and murmur, “Guinevere, are you doing this?”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Honestly, Lancelot.”
The shop clerk gasps and squeals. “Oh my God, your names are Guinevere and Lancelot? How adorable is that?”
Guinevere’s cheeks turn bright pink. “So weird, isn’t it?”
The clerk giggles and I have no clue what just happened. “And you’re such a perfect couple.”
Discomfort rolls off Guinevere in waves. “One might say doomed is a more apt word choice.” She digs in her bag as the clerk offers a total for the groceries. “Shitting hell,” she mutters before glancing back at the shop girl. “I don’t have enough.”
“Shall we pop a few items back on the shelves?”
Taking a deep breath, Guinevere nods. “The wine.”
“It’s all right, love. It happens all the time.”
Guinevere goes silent and passes her money to the clerk. Her eyes never leave the bag and before I can take the brown paper sack filled with her purchases, she snatches it and rushes out of the shop.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, running to keep up with her.
“I’m so stupid. How did I think I was going to be able to do this without my magic?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was naive to think being normal would be fun. I can’t even pay for a bottle of damned wine.”
“And how did you manage until now?”
She storms past the people milling about on her way back to the flat, a tempest wrapped in a gentle and beautiful package. I’ve seen this side of her once before. My Guinevere held off for so long before she finally gave in to the connection between us. But the night we came together as one, without Arthur’s knowledge, without the man she was sworn to love in attendance, that was the night she raged.
I follow her up the stairs and stare as she stands at the door, defeat slumping her shoulders. “Guinevere, turn around. Look at me.”
She does. Her stunning eyes shining with unshed tears of frustration. “First of all, we can’t be Guinevere and Lancelot in this life. From here on out, I’m Gwen and you’re…Lance.”
I frown. I don’t like the idea of calling her anything other than the name I know her as. The name I whispered as though in prayer as I gave her all my love. “Why?”
She closes her eyes and a tear trails down her cheek. I’m tempted to wipe the moisture away. I never could stand to see her cry. “Our story…it’s…more than just ours.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s famous the world over. Camelot, Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. Our disgrace. Everyone knows about us. There are books and films, television shows, musicals. If we go around London as Guinevere and Lancelot, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Aside from not knowing what most of those things she listed means, I understand. We can’t move on if the world reminds us of our tragic love simply based on our names. “All right, my queen. From now on, you’re Gwen and I’m Lance.”
She offers a weak smile and turns the doorknob. Then her gaze finds mine. “I don’t have a key.”
“Allow me, my lady. This was the first thing the angel taught me.” I pull out the key on a metal ring from my pocket, step past her, and unlock the door, grabbing the paper sack from her hands before she goes inside. She heads straight for the kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil as I close the door behind me.
I set the bag on the small kitchen table and grasp Guinevere’s shoulders with both hands, stopping her pacing as she waits for the water to heat. “You can’t be this upset over something as simple as not being able to buy something from the market.”
She stares at me, fire in her eyes. “I’m upset because I’m useless. I haven’t had a vision in weeks. I have to keep you alive, and I can’t afford to keep us fed.”
“Vision?” I can’t help but ask her. “You have the sight?”
“Witch, remember? And yes, I have visions.”
“Then you should be able to see that I’ll find a way to provide for us.”
Guinevere laughs. She laughs at me. During our time together, she’d never have done such a thing to me. What has happened to her?
“You can barely function in the world. You almost became a piece of handsome roadkill your first venture outside. No. I’ll have to get a job.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“A job.” She yawns, her arms raising in a stretch that reminds me of a cat settling in for a nap. “Tomorrow I’ll start looking.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’m not sure. Someone is always hiring though. I’ve mixed my share of potions. Maybe there’s a holistic…” She looks at me and pauses, obviously searching for a different word. “Um, a natural healer.” Then a grin spreads her lips. “Or I could always get a job stripping.”
“Stripping?” Stripping what?
“Dancing and taking off my clothes for money. I hear it’s quite lucrative.”
My vision runs red. “There is no way you’ll be doing that. The only man who should see your beautiful body unclothed is me.” It slips out before I can stop myself, but doesn’t that make it obviously true?
&n
bsp; “Not even you get to see me naked,” she says, holding her shoulders back and chin up. “And if I want to take my clothes off for men, I bloody well will.”
“If you want to take your clothes off, please, be my guest. You’ll be doing it here, for me and that is all there is to it.”
“I’d like to see you try and stop me.”
I step closer, pressing my hips against hers and caging her between me and the kitchen counter. “I think you know exactly how successful I can be at getting you to do what I want.”
There’s apprehension in her eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “You don’t have any say in what I do. You lost the privilege of having one long ago.”
Heat collects between us, lightning in a storm as the tension builds and our bodies call to one another. My gaze focuses on her beautiful mouth, the plump lips I’ve memorized and agonized over are so close I can almost feel them. Maybe we should just give in and come together if only to ease some of this need.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she murmurs. Her hands were braced on the counter behind her, but now her fingers have found their way to mine.
“How am I looking at you, my lady?”
“Like I’m something you crave.”
I lower my head enough to place my lips at her ear and whisper, “But you are everything I crave. I was driven mad with wanting you before I finally had you, and when I lost you…” I brush her earlobe with my mouth and she shudders out a harsh breath. “When I lost you, I relied on my dreams to bring you back.”
God save me, I’m hard as stone. She shifts her hips and the friction makes me bite back a moan. I’m desperate for her. Damn her and her wiles. My decisions are clouded by my need to be near her, to touch her soft skin and sate the longing in my body and heart. Some men turned to drink or other women to ease the loneliness when separated from their lovers. Not me. Guinevere has always been my vice.
Her palm slides up my arm and across my chest, the sensation making my entire body heat. Why are we wearing clothing? We’re alone. We should be naked, in a bed, worshipping each other. But then, hand in the center of my chest, she pushes. “Stop.”
That one word turns the inferno of desire between us cold. “Gwen…” I start but trail off. I don’t know if she’s right or wrong to put an end to this.
“I’m going to bed. This can’t happen between us. We’ll get caught up in each other and forget everything that happened and abandon all that is to come.”
“Did one of your visions tell you that?” My tone is clipped as I step away from her.
“No. Experience did.”
She brushes past me and marches down the hall, head held high, but I can sense the turmoil in her. She wants me just as I want her. We may not be good for one another, but we’re drawn together as we always have been. We spent years resisting the pull and it ended in nothing but pain and heartbreak. This time I’ve got no heart to break.
Gwen
My heart races as I walk away from Lancelot. The feel of his stubble on my skin still has my nipples tight and aching. I was always a sucker for him, slightly scruffy, a little rough around the edges. When I’m safely behind the door of my room, I lean against the wood and let out a long breath. My fingers trail over my ear where he’d kissed me. What is it about him that makes my blood run hot?
I could have given in and let him have me. It would have been easy. Lance and I always came together in a blaze of passion. That’s what happens when you have an affair. Clandestine meetings, heated kisses, rough and fast fucks in the stables or an empty room. But my favorite was always the nights Arthur was gone and I could bring my knight to my bed.
Fuck. I’m not doing myself any favors. Thinking about our time together is only adding to the desire between my legs. I strip down, dropping my clothes on the floor as I walk toward the bed. My breasts are swollen and begging for Lance’s touch.
As I slip between the bedsheets, I close my eyes and give myself over to the memory. My fingers slide down my belly and under the lace knickers I’ve left on.
In moments I’m back at Camelot, in my chambers. The dim light of the fire and a few candles cast a warm glow against the stone walls. I pace the floor, anticipation humming through my body. Will he come to me? I want so badly to feel his touch. Unable to stand the tension of waiting, I pour myself a goblet of wine and drink. My hands are shaking.
“Do not fret, my queen. I am here.” Lancelot’s warm voice covers me as his hands slide around my waist and inside the robe I wear. “I will always be here.”
His strong body presses against my back and I melt at his touch. My knight brushes the hair off my nape and pulls aside my robe, baring my shoulder as his lips press against the skin there. It’s my favorite place for him to kiss. “I thought you might not come to me,” I whisper. We keep trying to end this, knowing the depth of our betrayal, but as much as I care for my husband, I can’t seem to exist without Lancelot.
“This time…this must be the last time we are together in this way, my love.”
My chest hurts at the thought. But he’s right. I am the wife of the king and I must be faithful. “If this is the last time…” I begin, but my voice falters as he turns me in his arms and pushes the heavy fabric from my body.
“Then let it be the one we remember for all time.” His eyes are burning pools of need. “On the bed, my queen. I would taste your sweetness.”
I do as he asks, spreading myself on the mattress and watching in awe as he removes his own clothing. I’ve seen this man nude too many times to count, but it is always a thrill to see him hard and long, ready to take me.
He stands over the bed, staring down at me and shaking his head. “I said, I wish to taste you. Open for me.”
A thrill runs through me mixed with embarrassment. He has never done this before, but I trust him with my life. I still can’t spread my legs. Not knowing what he wants to do.
He smirks and grabs my ankles, tugging hard until I slide toward him. Then he drops to his knees and spreads my thighs. “Perfect and pink,” he murmurs before sliding a finger through my arousal. “Wet and ready for me.”
I buck and squirm, needing him to fill me not tease. “Lancelot, please,” I beg.
“Patience,” he scolds. “You may be queen, but here I rule.”
My heart pounds at the dominance in his tone. He’s right. This is the only place my Lancelot can take charge. And then his mouth is on my sex, licking and sucking, sending explosions of pleasure through me as his fingers sink inside and his tongue explores the hard button of desire between my thighs.
I moan his name, threading my fingers in his hair and pulling because it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything. Tears spring to my eyes at the overwhelming sensation and the knowledge that we have to stop doing this. But right now, I want to run away with him, to be his. That’s not entirely true. The thought of leaving Arthur hurts desperately as well, but we can’t give him what he truly needs. Even if we could, there would be no point. I can’t because in little more than a year my curse will take me.
My climax builds and I moan and shudder as he takes me over the edge. He was right. This will be a moment never forgotten and Lancelot du Lac will be my last lover.
Chapter Five
Lancelot
I don’t quite remember where I am when I wake. This isn’t the bed I’ve grown accustomed to. But then the last night comes to me in flashes. Guinevere. The woman stole my bedroom without so much as a question of whether or not I was using it. So like a queen. Though I didn’t correct her. There was something innately satisfying about knowing she would be sleeping in my bed. And from the breathy cries of my name on her lips last night, she found her own satisfaction as well.
I spent far too long reveling in those sounds as I tried to fall asleep. Eventually, I must’ve drifted off, but my dreams were plagued with sighs and moans, and I woke up hard and desperate for relief. I want her. I’ve always wanted her. Even as she broke my heart.
&n
bsp; I wander down the hall toward the living room, fatigue from a night of fitful sleep weighing on me. I need some hot tea and then possibly a cold shower. Music floods the room, fast-paced and strange, but I like it. And that’s when I see her dancing. Gwen is perfection in one of my few shirts. It’s too large for her small frame, falling at mid-thigh and offering the most enticing tease of her legs. With her hair braided to one side, dark strands framing her face, she looks like a siren sent to ensnare me.
“Where did you find that shirt?” I ask, hoping she won’t hear the tension in my voice.
She jumps in fright, eyes wide, a little squeak of surprise leaving her lips. “Holy hell, you scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”
Her bare legs look smooth and soft and I want to touch them. “And you are a thief.”
She cocks an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. The movement lifts the fabric of her shirt higher, flashing a teasing view of the tops of her thighs. “Thief?”
“That’s my shirt.”
“I figured as much.” The kettle on the stove begins whistling and she breezes past me, hips swaying as she goes. I have to grit my teeth and take a long breath to stop myself from pulling her to me. Even still, I follow her into the kitchen and watch as she pulls two mugs from the cupboard. “Tea?” she asks, nothing but innocence in her tone.
“Are you going to apologize?”
“For offering you tea?”
“For stealing what’s mine.”
She bites her lip and ponders, but then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.” Pouring hot water into each mug, she keeps her gaze away from me. “It was hanging on a hook in the bathroom in my room.”
“That’s my room. Another thing you stole.”
“And what about the things you stole from me?” Anger burns through her words.
“I stole something? Please, my queen, enlighten me.”
Her gaze meets mine, fury and fire swirling in the depths of her eyes. “My life, for starters. You stole my life by being here. I could’ve been happy without magic, living with my sisters and doing nothing other than caring for them and their children. But no. You had to come charging in with your sword and your swoony hair.”
