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Guinevere froze in her seat, her eyes traveling from warlock to witch to the man who stood mutely to her side, his hand still holding the back of her chair—whether to help her up or to prevent her from leaving, she didn't know.

And she didn't care. She was betrayed, once again.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Guinevere said, her tone bitter. "Disasters always come in threes."

She moved her chair back and stood up, taking note of how Merlin and Morgana stepped back but ignoring Arthur's extended hand. She wanted none of them near her.

"Your High..."

Merlin's greeting was cut short when Guinevere's hand shot up to quell him.

"You will not speak to me." Guinevere's words dripped with loathing. "You will not come near me."

Her eyes moved to Morgana.

"Or my family."

She saw the witch turn pale.

"I know, Morgana," her voice was dead calm. "And if you contact Elyan or my father, again, I will come after you."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"And this time, there will be no resurrection."

Guinevere smoothed her skirt, not bothering to hide the fact that she was trembling in anger.

"I trusted all of you," she continued in the same calm voice. "With my life, my safety, and my heart—all those times I gave what you asked of me and sought for nothing in return."

Her small hands were now bunched into fists at her sides.

"And that was precisely what I received. Nothing."

"You had a kingdom at your feet," Arthur countered softly. He knew that he had to do something—anything—to quell her anger.

"I had a kingdom that was suspicious of me, a court that acquiesced only when you nodded, friends who would betray me to further their interests, and a husband who never listened to anyone's counsel."

Her eyes slid to Merlin.

"Save one."

"Guinevere..." Arthur stretched out a hand to her.

"Even now, none of you could be honest with me. You," she indicated to Merlin and Morgana. " Said that I should ally myself with you because Albion would fall."

"You," this time to Arthur. "Declare love like it is something cheap and unimportant."

"You ask for forgiveness, for consideration; you call me 'Queen' when all the while this was something for your benefit. Never once have you asked me what I felt about all of this—or if whatever mercy I bestow would benefit me as well—only that my absolution would free you."

She spat out the last word.

"You," she whispered this time. "Once again, this is all about you. You, your throne, your powers, and your beloved Albion."

Guinevere's chest heaved her emotion as she spoke. Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana stood mutely, powerless in the knowledge that the Queen's words rang deep and true.

"I have had very little freedom since I met all of you," her eyes once again were boring into Arthur's, letting him know that he deserved the most anger. "And I tell you now, finally, that you will receive no forgiveness from me."

"No," Morgana's ragged voice broke the heavy silence after Guinevere spoke. "My Queen, we will perish."

"As you should."

Guinevere began to make her way to the doors that would take her out of Camelot. But as she neared them, she paused, turned around, and addressed the three once again.

"I may have relented had you been more truthful; that all you wanted was another chance. But all these years and you have learned nothing. You still believe that you only had to ask and I would give what you wanted. That my favor was yours for the taking."

She shook her head.

"Not anymore. If I am to be damned with these memories, then so be it. Let Albion fall, let the dust claim us all. You have killed me before, what is one more time?"

She looked again at the three who paled even further at her words.

"Love," to Arthur.

"Loyalty," to Merlin.

"Vengance," to Morgana.

"Where does that leave me?"

No answers came and it was just as she expected it.

"Maybe they were right, that I am the weakness of Camelot. I find no reason to change all of that now—especially now. But let me give you this comfort: I will not save myself, either."

Guinevere felt calmness wash over her and she turned on her heel, making her way to the front door. A member of Arthur's household staff was there, and she asked if a car was available to take her back to the city. A nod, the door was opened, and she was ushered into a vehicle.

The drive back to her flat was quiet; words between her and the uniformed driver were exchanged only as she exited the car. She went into her flat and locked her doors, bolting it securely behind her. Arthur's temper had always been violent and there was the chance that he would unleash it tonight.

It was only after she was inside the safety of her home that she allowed the tears to fall. Hot and uncontrollable, they spilled onto her cheeks as she sobbed. She had clung to the desperate hope that this time would be different, that her savior would come. That Arthur would fight to keep her safe.

But she was wrong. Once again, she had to be her own salvation.