Camelot's Queen

CHAPTER 1-3

“Is it not every man’s dream to lie with the Goddess?” I teased, the drink making my tongue bold.

His face darkened, and he looked away, mumbling, “I prefer my partners mortal.”

Silence stretched on for a few moments as we each tried to decide how to proceed. I finally decided to be honest with him, to tell him all the things building in my heart since the fateful night he had proposed. If the truth wasn’t spoken now, it might not ever be.

“You really didn’t know?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “About Aggrivane?”

Arthur shook his head, watching me carefully. “If you had it to do over again, would you choose me?”

How could he even ask me such a question? He was the king. What was I going to say—no? “Would I have a choice?”

Arthur stepped toward me, hand outstretched. “Of course. You’ve always had a choice.”

I stepped away from him. “Have I? You asked for my hand in front of the entire court of Dyfed, already having secured my father’s agreement.”

Arthur dropped his hand, balling it into a fist at his side. “Guinevere, I understand your pain. You are not the only one who has lost something. I had a completely different life before I became king—plans, dreams which will never be fulfilled. This is a duty I never asked for.”

“Neither did I.”

“But you’re here now.” His smile was tender.

Before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed me gently. Then he pulled back and searched my eyes as if looking for permission to continue.

My tension eased, shoulders sagging as I realized he was right. I was here now, with my husband. No matter what had come before, I’d made my promise to him. I had a duty now, to him and to my people. In answer to his questioning eyes, I kissed him back, with equal tenderness and no small amount of awkwardness.

He ran his hands over my hair, down my neck and shoulders, to my waist as our lips danced, gradually learning one another’s pace and preferences. When his hands reached my hips, he removed my shift and lifted me effortlessly. We made love with the uncertainty of strangers, the act slowly forming a bond between us even as we struggled to find pleasure in our forced coupling.

When it was over, Arthur lay his head on my chest and his breathing slowed to the even pace of a dreamer. I kissed the top of his head.

“I suppose being married to you will not be so bad,” I whispered before closing my eyes.