"Guinevere?" Arthur enters the royal chambers, looking for his wife. Where is she? I actually had something to talk to her about… He walks towards the sleeping quarters. "Love?" he asks. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking around.

His eyes land on the bed. Right in the center is one of Gwen's white linen handkerchiefs; identical to the one she gifted him back at her house. Unconsciously his hand drifts to his chest, his hand resting against his waistcoat, feeling the familiar lump where an identical piece of cloth is folded neatly into its usual resting place in an inside pocket.

What is that doing there? Did she drop it? It's so perfectly placed. He frowns at it. Why am I worrying so much about this, anyway? Because I don't know where she is, that's why.

Is this a hint? Did she leave this here on purpose? "Hmm." What kind of hint is this?

"Hmm," he repeats, turning and striding purposefully from the room, grabbing his long blue cloak hanging on a peg before he exits.

xXx

"Where is it?" Gwen frets to herself, looking underneath the few pieces of furniture left in her old house. It has been standing, empty and uninhabited, in the lower town since she was banished. Ironically, it was one of the few buildings that survived Agravaine's arson.

I wonder how much the fact that this was my house plays into it still being empty, Gwen absently wonders. I guess moving into the house that belonged to the woman who is now their queen might be seen as disrespectful. Now. Where is that damn comb?

It is a hair comb that belonged to her mother. When her meager belongings were moved to the castle, it was done so hurriedly and amidst the rebuilding that she wasn't able to properly oversee the work. And now she can't find the precious item that is one of her few reminders of her mother.

Arthur approaches Guinevere's old house and peeks through the window. She is standing in the middle of the one room, her back to the door. He can't make out what she is doing.

Silently he opens the door and creeps inside, closing it just as silently behind him. A devilish grin creeps across his face, and he grabs the edges of his cloak and raises his arms. He brings them down and around his wife's body, making her jump. A short scream of alarm escapes her lips before she realizes to whom the familiar arms and cloak belong.

He bends down, the hood falling over both their heads as he kisses her cheek and neck, sucking lightly at the sweetness of her skin.

"Arthur," she whispers, "you scared me half out of my mind."

As if you weren't expecting me, he thinks as he continues his nibbling on her ear, his arms holding her waist.

"Show yourself if you value your life," a voice says behind Arthur. "This is a private residence and you are trespassing."

Arthur straightens up – carefully, as he can feel the point of a sword pressed lightly but menacingly against his shoulder blade.

"Elyan," Arthur sighs, raising a hand to remove his hood, revealing not only himself but Gwen as well.

Elyan immediately lowers his sword and stammers, "Oh… I… Forgive me, Sire, I… I didn't know… I heard a scream, and…"

Gwen laughs openly at her brother. "You are just doing your job, Elyan. Now go back outside and continue to do so," she smirks at him.

"Um… yes. I'll do that. Uh, carry on," Elyan says awkwardly as he backs out of the door.

"What are you doing here?" Gwen asks Arthur, now that the mood has been interrupted.

He smirks at her. "I got the little hint you left me," he says, removing his cloak.

"What hint?"

Oh. Guess not. "The handkerchief on the bed wasn't a hint to meet you here?" he furrows his brow and reaches for her hand.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, because it looked just like the one you gave me a hundred years ago, and the way it seemed so deliberately placed in the center of our bed, and…"

She smiles at his sweetness. "A hundred years ago?"

"Okay, maybe it wasn't that many."

"I'm looking for my mother's silver hair comb. I can't find it anywhere. I thought it was inside that handkerchief, but when I went to look for it, it wasn't there," she says, the worry coming back in her voice. "I don't have much of my mother, and that was a gift from my father to her for their wedding, and…"

"I know where it is," Arthur says quietly, pulling her into his arms.

"You do?"

"I sent it to the silversmith to get cleaned." He tips his head down and kisses her. "It was almost completely black with tarnish," he pauses again, kissing her temple. "I had intended it to be a surprise."

"Oh," she says, her fingers tracing the edges of the vee in the neck of his red shirt.

"I… I didn't realize that it was your mother's. I'm sorry if I worried you," he kisses her again, longer this time.

"Arthur…" she manages, a gasp spoken against his lips.

"Guinevere," he says softly, "we are completely alone. No one knows we're here," he kisses her again, "except Elyan, and I don't think he's going to be saying anything." He kisses her neck. "We should take," he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, "advantage of the situation."

With that, he lifts her and sets her on the table, nestling between her knees amongst the skirts of her dress. He leans in and reclaims her lips that automatically and immediately part for him, her tongue meeting his, her hands in his hair and at his neck.

Arthur's hand comes up to her breast, squeezing it lightly, thumb grazing the soft exposed flesh above her bodice, and she arches into him.

His other hand starts pulling at her skirts, raising them so he can reach underneath.

"Arthur," she says as his lips travel down her graceful neck, "we shouldn't. Not here."

"You're right," he says against her neck, yet his hands do not stop.

"Arthur," she drops her hand to stop the one that is now caressing her thigh. "It's the… middle of the day," she leans her head back as he kisses her breasts, "and there are people… right outside."

"So?" he bites her neck softly, teasing.

"So," she takes a deep breath, takes his face in her hands, and looks into his eyes, glazed-over with desire. "So people don't need to be hearing us in here." She leans over and kisses him. Briefly.

"Very well," he says, defeated, leaning his head on her shoulder, frustrated. "Good thing I have my cloak," he chuckles, adjusting his trousers.