Arthur finds the tree marking the secret place and leads his horse into the thicket, intent on a cool drink in the hidden spring. He isn't expecting to nearly run smack into the six and a half foot tall wall that is his largest knight.

"Percival? What are you doing here?" he asks, stepping back.

"Standing guard, Sire," Percival answers.

Arthur's brows furrow, and he realizes he can hear some faint watery noises coming from the direction of the spring. His spring.

Then it occurs to him that there is only one person Sir Percival would be guarding. He peers around the knight's shoulder, towards the spring. "Guinevere?" he asks, lowering his voice.

"The queen wished to cool off," Percival explains. "She was certain no one knew of this place, but as she is queen..."

"Thank you, Percival," Arthur replies, reaching up to give him a friendly pat on the arm. "You may go."

A very brief look of understanding crosses the large knight's face, and if it weren't already red from the oppressive heat, he probably would be blushing. "Thank you," he answers.

Arthur begins loosening his garments before Percival is fully out of sight. He moves silently, creeping as noiselessly as he can, pausing only to secure his horse to a tree with a whispered promise for a drink later.

He strips down to just his breeches, then peeks through the leaves. His beautiful wife is floating in the small pool, her plain white shift floating around her, her hair loose, held aloft in the water like a soft black cloud.

He smiles, shucks his trousers, and stealthily picks his way to the water's edge, praying she doesn't open her eyes.

Silent as a clever predator, he moves through the blessedly cool water until he reaches her head. In one swift move, he dips down, slides his arms around her, gently pulls her against him, and murmurs in her ear, "I did not know this was an enchanted pool."

Guinevere shrieks in surprise, then gasps, "Arthur!"

He presses his lips to hers, kissing her soundly. "I didn't know you knew this place," he says, keeping one hand around her waist while the other reaches up and slyly (so he thinks) slides the strap of her shift from her shoulder.

"Elyan and I used to come here as children," she says, her hands resting on his chest. She's been in the water long enough that they feel cool against his warm skin.

"Small wonder we never crossed paths then," he replies, bending to kiss her bared shoulder. "I used to come here as a child, too. With Mo— well, you know who with."

She kisses the slight frown from his lips. "Don't give her a thought right now. She is still nursing her wounds from being defeated again," she soothes, kissing him again, longer this time.

"I know, but—"

Guinevere's kisses interrupt him, and when she presses her body against his, all thought is forgotten.

His questing hands find the other strap, sliding it down, but going no further. He kisses down her neck, moving his hands down under her backside, where he lifts her and encourages her legs to wrap around his waist.

She does so and he hitches her higher still, kissing her breasts through the thin material. His lips are hot and she is cool, her nipples pebbled from the cold water and his attention.

"Arthur..." she breathes, fisting his hair and pulling it a bit, her eyes drifting closed. Her hair is dripping on him, but he doesn't notice, intent only on his Guinevere, his bride of only two weeks.

He hums a response against her, kissing a path from one breast to the other as he moves one hand to slide under the skirt of her shift beneath the water.

"We shouldn't," she feebly protests, his hand finding its goal, feeling her warmth in the cool spring. "Oh..."

"No one will find us," he murmurs, undeterred. "As long as you're quiet," he teasingly adds.

"Me!" she squeaks. "I'm not the one who—oh, mmm..."

Arthur chuckles against her skin, beginning to move out of the pool. "I intend to spread my cloak out on the grass," he whispers, moving back to kiss her lips, "and then spread you out on my cloak."

Guinevere blushes, still growing accustomed to this side of their relationship. She has learned he is very demonstrative in the bedchamber and seems to be far less shy of talking about these matters than she. "All right," is all she can think to say, finding herself on her feet for just a moment while Arthur tends to his cloak.

"Come here, Wife," he rumbles, pulling her close. He kisses her again and then reaches for her soaked shift, toying with it but not removing it. "I like how this clings to you," he comments, noting how the gauzy white linen hides almost nothing in its wet state. "It's very alluring." He reaches up and moves the straps back onto her shoulders.

"Arthur?" she asks, puzzled.

"I like how it reveals and conceals at the same time," he explains, plucking at the garment, pulling it away from her skin, then letting go, allowing it to wrinkle and cling in a new pattern. He pulls her against him again, cupping her backside as his lips find hers once more, and he guides them down onto his cloak.

"Your cloak is going to get all wet," she absently says, reaching up to run her fingers through his slightly damp hair.

"Do I look like I care one jot about the state of my cloak?" he asks, smiling devilishly down at her. He begins kissing down her body, sucking the water out of her shift as he kisses.

She quietly moans, amazed at how she can feel everything he is doing through the fabric. It even adds to the sensation at times, so much so that she doesn't notice him pushing her skirt upward.

His lips are already halfway up her thigh before she realizes where he's headed. "Arthur..." she shakily starts, torn between trying to stop him and giving into her carnal curiosity.

"Mmm," he replies, keeping to his path.

I've heard talk of this, but I never thought people actually... "Oh!" she gasps, her body bucking upward. He holds her hips, steadying her as his tongue slides and sweeps, sending pleasure through her she never imagined. "Oh... Arthur..." she sighs, her fingers clutching his cloak on either side of her.

Just when Guinevere thinks she is about to burst, Arthur kisses her once more, then moves away, kneeling between her legs. He gazes down at her with a wolfish grin on his face for a moment, then drops down over her, catching her lips in a searing kiss.

He tastes strange, but it isn't unpleasant, and she moves her legs, lifting her knees and sliding one foot against his thigh, enticing and inviting.

"Take me in your hand," he murmurs, his lips brushing her ear.

She happily obeys, reaching down and closing her fingers – no longer cool – around his length, stroking him the way he showed her on their wedding night. He groans, a sound that makes her stomach quiver, and she finds herself moving him into place, wanting to feel him against her, inside her.

"Please," she whispers, and that is all he needs to hear. He drops his hips and plunges into her, drawing an "Oh!" in a strangled squeak from her. She can feel her wet shift bunched between them. She can feel his hand on her breast, his thumb toying with her nipple. She can feel his lips on her neck, her jaw, her ear, her lips. She can feel him, moving within her, the heat between them far greater than the blistering summer heat around them.

Arthur begins to move, knowing he won't last long. He enjoyed pleasing his wife very much and he is practically bursting with need as he thrusts into her with swift, urgent strokes. He kisses wherever he can reach, enjoying the feel of her hands on his body, pulling, grasping, sometimes scratching. He groans her name, gritting his teeth to hold on just a little longer.

Guinevere can feel the now-familiar warmth stealing over her, spreading from where they are joined. She lets it build, enjoying every moment, every touch, every kiss, until it becomes too much to bear and she gasps his name with her climax.

He immediately follows, spilling into her with a low grunt, his body a coiled spring. He relaxes a moment later, exhaling and collapsing over her.

She caresses his head, her fingers combing through his hair until he rolls off of her, half on the cloak, half in the grass.

"I came here to cool off in the spring," he says, chuckling. "I wound up working up more of a sweat." He reaches over and pulls her slowly drying shift down to cover her. "However, it was definitely worth it," he adds, rolling to his side and looking down at her. "I love you so much, Guinevere."

"I love you, Arthur," she replies, reaching up to caress his cheek. "And there's nothing that says you can't cool off now," she suggests. "In fact, I've grown overly warm again as well." She gives him a crafty smile.

"Is that so?" he asks, sitting up. He takes her hand and pulls her up as well.

"It is," she replies, pecking his lips once before darting away and jumping back into the water, her quickness surprising him.

"Guinevere!"