The weather was warm and traveling easy and pleasant as Guinevere, Leon, and Llacheu made their way back to Camelot. They got on the road very shortly after breakfast, knowing the journey would take most of the day and they wished to return in time for dinner.
They stop only briefly for lunch, eating cold rations from Elyan and Elena's kitchen while seated on some boulders at the side of the road because they did not want to take the time to build a fire and cook.
Guinevere stands and brushes her hands together. "I'm just going to step into the forest for a moment's privacy," she says, feeling a bit embarrassed to have to tell them but knowing better than to just disappear.
"Of course, my lady," Leon says.
She walks carefully, lifting her skirts to keep herself from tripping. I wish I had some trousers for traveling, she absently thinks, wondering if it would be scandalous to see if Elga would sew some for her. Her traveling gown is simple, with a skirt that is not too full, but sometimes she thinks it would be so much easier to wear trousers.
She sees to her needs, then pats her hair, attempting to smooth it. She looks around a little, listening to see if there is a stream nearby, but she hears nothing.
Nothing except footsteps.
Figuring it is likely Llacheu or Leon, she begins to turn. When someone grabs her from behind, the greeting on her lips turns into a rather loud alarmed cry.
"Quiet, you," a gruff voice barks. Guinevere struggles, but he is much stronger than she, so she makes very little headway. "If you stay still, it won't be as bad," he adds. "I might even be gentle," he rumbles, "but probably not."
Her blood runs cold and she tries to elbow him in what feels like a rather sizable gut. He grabs her elbow and tugs hard. She cries out again, quieter this time, but says nothing. She knows pleading with him would be pointless. She looks towards the road, hoping Leon heard her scream earlier.
"Oh, now, there's no need to be unfriendly," the bandit growls into her ear.
Guinevere goes still as a statue, the man's thick, dirty arm heavy across her chest, his breath acrid in her nose. She tries not to make a face at the overall stench of him.
"You will unhand the lady at once."
Guinevere's eyes widen. It is not the voice she was expecting.
The bandit laughs and turns, dragging Guinevere with him. When he sees the prince standing with his sword drawn, he laughs harder. "Who's this? Your son?" He looks at Guinevere. "Nah, probably not. You take a young lover then?" he sneers, his voice dripping with insinuation. As he laughs at his own joke, Guinevere seizes her opportunity and stomps hard on his foot. He is only wearing soft leather coverings, barely qualifying as shoes, so her riding boots make a profound impact.
"Bitch!" the man spits as she dashes away. He reaches for her hand, trying to grab it and pull her back in.
Llacheu is much quicker and heads him off, jumping between him and Guinevere. "I said, 'Unhand the lady'," he repeats, his voice as steady as his sword hand. He waves Guinevere away with the other.
Guinevere steps back, but doesn't leave him. She will not and cannot do that. He appears to be completely in control, but he is still only a boy. She just begins to wonder where Leon is when the sound of metal clashing on metal reaches her ears from the direction of the road.
"And what are you going to do about it, my Fancy Little Lord?" the bandit taunts, drawing two dirks from his belt, holding one in each hand.
Llacheu swishes his sword, twirling his wrist. It is a preparatory move Guinevere has seen Arthur do almost every time she's watched him train the knights. It makes the young prince look so much like his father that Guinevere has the sudden, certain realization that Llacheu will win this fight.
The bandit laughs again. "Oh, look at the Fancy Little Lord swingin' his sword! Is that all you can do, Pup?" He begins to move towards him, knives held menacingly. Llacheu suddenly strikes out and knocks the dirk out of the man's left hand, sending it into the undergrowth and out of sight. "Why you smug little whelp…" the man growls, and lunges.
The fight is over so quickly Guinevere almost misses it. The bulky thug is no match for Llacheu's lightning-fast reflexes and nimble feet, and he has the bandit on his knees in seconds, sword pointed at his throat.
"You were saying?" the prince asks.
He is so his father's son. Guinevere has to bite back an unexpected smile.
The bandit lets loose with a string of curses, punctuated occasionally with things like, "Child" and "Thinks he's better than me", finally concluding again with "Fancy Little Lord".
Llacheu presses the tip of his sword forward just enough to get the man to stop talking. "I'll have you know I am not merely a lord," he says. "I am Prince Llacheu, heir to the throne of Camelot, and I will remember your face if you are ever foolish enough to set foot inside my kingdom."
"Lady Guinevere! Prince Llacheu!" Leon appears then, only slightly out of breath. "Oh. Well done, my lord."
The bandit glowers, unrepentant and bitter, looking daggers at the prince.
"What shall we do with him?" Llacheu asks.
"I tied his three companions to a tree up there," Leon indicates with his head. "He can join them."
"Three?" Guinevere says, shocked and impressed. "You felled three men on your own?"
Leon shrugs lightly. "It is what I am trained to do, my lady," he simply says. He grabs the bandit by the back of his vest and hauls him to his feet before noticing the dirt on Guinevere's dress. "Did he harm you in any way, my lady?" he asks, his face growing grave.
Guinevere can see his free hand twitching and knows the bandit will be dead if she were to say yes. The realization that she could lie and have this man killed is sobering. "No. He tried, but Prince Llacheu came to my rescue at just the right moment," she says, smiling at the boy.
"You're fortunate she's an honest and kindhearted Lady," Leon snarls at the man, who merely grunts in surprise and annoyance as he is hauled up the hill. Leon is slender, but very tall and surprisingly strong. He has no trouble handling the hefty bandit.
"Thank you, Llacheu," Guinevere says, taking the prince's offered arm. They begin picking their way back to the road.
"You're welcome, Lady Guinevere. It is my duty as prince to protect my people," he answers. "Also, I got really angry when I got there and saw him doing… whatever it was he had planned to do to you."
She stops, struck by his words. His unexpected protectiveness of her further solidifies the growing bond between them, and she pulls him into a hug. "You are growing into a very fine young man," she says, blinking away the tears in her eyes. "Your father will be so proud of you when you tell him what you did today."
"Lady Guinevere?" he quietly asks, pulling away.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Don't tell anyone, but… I was scared," he admits.
She smiles, understanding. "There is no shame in being frightened," she says, taking his arm again. They start walking again. "It is a sign of wisdom," she adds. "Only fools disregard danger."
"She's right," Leon says, having heard her last statements. "You were very brave, my lord."
"Thank you, Sir Leon," Llacheu says.
Guinevere notices that while he wasn't shaking earlier, he is trembling a bit now. She takes his hand and holds it between both of hers for a moment. "Come. Let's go home."
xXx
They return later than they originally had hoped, but not too much so. The bandits set them back, and they also stopped and spoke with some patrolling knights they encountered to report the attack and tell them where the men were tied up.
They were met by the stablemaster in the courtyard, but not Arthur.
It's just as well, Guinevere decides, as she very likely looks terrible and smells like horse. She can still smell the odor of the bandit who assaulted her, but isn't sure if his stink is clinging to her clothes or if it is her imagination.
In any case, while she is disappointed not to see Arthur, she is a little glad at the same time.
Freya meets her halfway to her rooms, overjoyed to see her mistress again. "My lady, what happened?" she immediately asks. "Your dress is torn!"
"Is it?" Guinevere looks down to where Freya is pointing and sees that her skirt does have a tear in it. She sighs. "There were bandits," she explains. "I wasn't injured."
"Oh, thank God," Freya replies. "I'll have a bath brought up immediately."
They enter Guinevere's rooms. A page sets her baggage down, and Freya sends him to see to Guinevere's bath water.
"Freya, you are wonderful," Guinevere says just as a knock sounds at her door. She opens it to find Gwydre and Amhar standing there. "Oh!" Guinevere exclaims, surprised and delighted to see them. They both hug her at the same time, one on each side, and once again, she finds tears coming to her eyes.
"We missed you, Lady Guinevere," they both say.
"I missed you, too," she replies. "Both of you. So much."
"Did you get my note?" Amhar asks, looking up at her.
She bends down and says, "Yes, I did. Thank you." She hugs him and adds, "We need to work on your spelling though."
"Will we have classes tomorrow?" Gwydre asks.
"I think so," she answers. The princes' lessons have been the farthest thing from her mind, but she will come up with something for tomorrow, unable to deny the hopeful expression on Gwydre's face.
"Good," he replies. "Come on, Amhar. You need to go to bed and Lady Guinevere is probably hungry." He takes his brother's hand and begins leading him away. He turns back and says. "We're glad you're back. Father will be happy again."
Guinevere's mouth opens, but no words find their way out. She simply watches the boys walk down the corridor to Amhar's nursery.
xXx
Guinevere feels like herself again after her bath. She sent Freya away for a while, wishing for some time alone. She should be hungry, but doesn't really feel like eating yet. She goes to the window and looks out over the courtyard, watching the few people mill about, doing their final duties for the evening.
"I missed you."
The words are softly spoken and come from the direction of Guinevere's doors, which had been left open. She wheels around, caught completely off guard. "Sire," she softly exclaims. She wasn't expecting to see him tonight.
He steps inside, closing the doors behind him. "Arthur," he gently corrects as he walks towards her.
She nods and looks down, but doesn't say anything, trying to gather her thoughts as he walks towards her. He is being completely open with her and she has had no time to prepare for this type of reunion. He stops in front of her, and she finds her voice. "I missed you, too," she softly replies.
"Amhar seemed to be under the impression you might not return," he says, wishing she would look up at him.
She smiles, but it doesn't last. "I gave it a thought," she admits.
His hand slowly comes up, delicately lifting her chin with his index finger. "Why?" he asks.
She tries not to look into his eyes, but cannot stop herself. Especially because he's looking at her in a way she's never seen before. His expression is honest and tender, almost vulnerable. It's very new and very attractive.
"I… I thought I was unhappy here," she answers. "I thought I would be able to think with a clearer head in familiar surroundings and… and decide if I was happier in Caerleon."
"Were you?" he asks.
She blinks. "Was I able to think or was I happier in Caerleon?" she asks, not sure which he wishes to know.
He smiles. "Both."
She takes a step back, unable to think with him so close. "It was nice to be home," she starts, turning away to face the window once again. "My rooms were just as I had left them. The surroundings were familiar, the faces dear." She sighs. "But… it was no longer home. The longer I was there, the more my mind would stray back to here. These rooms." She extends her arms, then drops them. "This castle. The princes."
"Me?" Arthur's voice is quiet, a small whisper so full of hopefulness that it could almost be called "desperate".
Guinevere can't bring herself to speak, afraid her voice might fail her if she tries. Her heart is pounding and her throat feels tight. She nods once, closing her eyes.
She hears his soft footsteps behind her, coming closer again, and she cannot will her feet to move. She keeps her eyes closed and clenches her hands into her skirts.
A moment later, she feels his hand, warm and strong, closing over one of hers, delicately freeing it from its grip on her dress. He gently tugs it until she turns back to face him again. "Guinevere."
She wobbles just slightly, but his soft yet stable hold on her hand supports her. Everything she needed to know was contained in that one word. She risks a look up at him, then drops her gaze again. "When you didn't come down to see me off, I thought…"
"You thought I was angry with you?" he asks. "Didn't care?" His thumb is slowly, softly rubbing circles on the back of her hand, his touch remarkably tender for a man known to be a killing machine.
"Yes," she whispers. "Well, no. I… I was fairly sure you did… do… but I thought that's all it would be. Just…" She pauses, unsure if she can bring herself to say the words.
"What?" he softly presses, again wishing she would look up at him. He can feel her trembling, can smell the sweet, flowery scent coming from her hair. He wants to bury his nose in the dark mahogany curls, wants to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
And now he's finally brave enough, finally ready to act on it. But he needs to know that she is also ready. So he chooses to let her guide where things will go between them.
She takes a deep breath. "I was afraid you would never…" Her words die as she once more loses her nerve to speak her thoughts.
He lifts her hand and kisses it. It is not the dry, chaste brush of lips he offered last time. This time he lingers, his lips warm and soft on her skin. "Never do this?" he whispers, his lips still dangerously close to her skin. "Never act on this… undeniable attraction we have for one another?"
"Yes." Her voice is shaky and so are her knees.
"I was afraid," he says, turning her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist. Her skin is unbelievably soft and fragrant. "Afraid of letting myself be happy for fear I'd eventually lose you, too."
She finally looks at him. "Oh, Arthur…"
He brings her hand to his chest, resting it over his heart, letting her feel how her proximity makes his heart race. "But I was so miserable while you were away that I realized I would be a fool to deny myself even one moment of… whatever time I am allowed with you."
Overwhelmed, Guinevere feels a tear slip out and roll down her cheek and she takes a shaky breath. "I'm scared, too, Arthur," she admits. "But I was also miserable while I was away. I thought perhaps I was unhappy here, but when I got there, I realized I wasn't." Her free hand gingerly lands on his biceps, and she feels his muscles jump in reaction to her touch.
His reaches up to brush away her tear, really wanting to pull her into his arms, remembering how good she felt there when they danced. "It sounds very confusing," he says.
She nods, her eyes fixed on his neck. "People noticed my mood and assumed it was because my life here was terrible. Elyan and Elena helped me figure out the true cause of my sadness." Her eyes flick up to his. "They helped me realize I was miserable because I wasn't here. Because I was… denying how I felt. Then later, when I found the note Amhar had snuck into my bag, I knew I had to come back to Camelot."
"To me," he adds.
Her eyes widen slightly and she has to stop the sudden laugh that threatens to escape. "You've certainly gotten over your fear, haven't you?" she asks, her lips curling into a slight smile.
"Almost," he answers, his gaze dropping to her lips for one small but very telling moment.
Guinevere softly gasps, then bites her lower lip. It only draws his eyes back down to them, and she releases it as soon as she notices.
Arthur lifts her hand and kisses it once again. "I… I don't want you to think me a cad," he says, his voice a bit low and husky. "But I really want to kiss you, Guinevere." When she doesn't answer, he nods and looks down. "It's too soon. I've overwhelmed you. I'm s—"
"I want you to kiss me, Arthur," she answers. "It's just that… no one has kissed me in more than two years," she whispers.
He releases her hand to slowly place his arm around her waist. "It has been slightly over three years for me," he replies. "I hope we remember how," he adds, a slight smile curling his lips.
Guinevere returns his smile, happy but not surprised to learn that Arthur hadn't used his status as King to have his "physical needs" met by willing (or unwilling) young maids or paid concubines.
He caresses her cheek once before dropping his head.
Her eyes drift closed as his lips touch hers, warm and yielding. They fit perfectly together, and she melts into him, her hands moving up to his shoulders. His arms slide, hands splaying on her back as he leans into her.
The kiss is soft and filled with promise, and it is over much too soon. Arthur pulls away before giving in to the urge to part her lips with his tongue and thoroughly lose himself.
"It seems we do remember," Guinevere softly exhales, looking up at him. She's a bit surprised she is able to form a coherent sentence, especially because he is still loosely holding her in his arms.
Arthur nods, wanting to kiss her again, but holding back. "Have dinner with me," he says. "Please?" he amends, clumsily attempting to turn the command into a request.
"Yes," Guinevere answers with a smile.
"I will have George bring dinner for two to my chambers then," he says. She hesitates, unsure if that's appropriate. "If you'd rather dine with me in the hall, we can eat there," he immediately adds, seeing her expression. He drops his hands and takes a small step back. "I… I simply wish for privacy. So we can speak freely to one another."
"I know I can trust you, Arthur," she says, reaching out to touch his arm. "It wasn't that which caused my hesitation."
"Always the proper Lady," he answers, understanding. He lifts her hand from his arm and kisses it. "I do not think we need to trouble ourselves with chaperones. You and I are too old to be concerned with traditional rules of courtship," he says with a chuckle, turning her hand and kissing her palm. "I don't think they apply the second time around anyway."
She laughs then, and somewhat haughtily says, "Speak for yourself, my lord, but I am not old."
"Oh, I know," he ruefully answers, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. "I most certainly know that," he echoes, leading her from her chambers to his.
xXx
As they talk and dine together, Guinevere realizes things are no longer awkward at all. Conversation flows easily between them, and they laugh together much more than she would have expected.
He asks about the bandits they encountered on their way home, and Guinevere gives him her version of the events, including the parts that happened before Llacheu arrived. Arthur was clearly angered by the attack, and though it was difficult to hear about it a second time, he truly wanted to hear her account. He told her how proud he was of his firstborn, and that it warmed his heart to hear how Llacheu had done such an excellent job defending her. "It shows me how highly he regards you, Guinevere, and it pleases me a great deal that he was able to protect you when I, regrettably, could not."
She gets the distinct impression that had Arthur been there, the bandit would be dead.
Not wishing for him to dwell on it, she changes the subject, telling him about the wedding and the offer from Queen Annis. He was pleased that her family and queen were prepared to go to such lengths to ensure her happiness.
Guinevere also relays Annis' curious comments about Camelot needing her more than Caerleon. "I think she suspects more than she let on," she says. "About us, I mean." She sets her napkin beside her plate. "The more I think back to my visit to Caerleon, the more I get the feeling no one will be surprised to learn of this turn of events." She looks over at him and grins somewhat sheepishly.
He chuckles, pushing his chair back. "Come," he stands and offers his hand. "Join me by the fire."
She takes his hand and stands. He holds her hand instead of placing it in the crook of his arm and leads her to a pair of upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace.
He places a few more logs on the fire before sitting. George knocks and Arthur bids him enter, allowing the servant to clear the dinner dishes while they continue talking.
"I was expecting you to be old," Arthur suddenly says, hearkening back to the comments he made earlier when they left Guinevere's chambers.
"I beg your pardon?" she asks, laughing.
"Annis merely told me you were a widow. I was expecting someone closer to her age than mine," he explains. "Then when you appeared, looking…" he trails off, and his eyes get a faraway look in them for a moment before he continues, "beautiful. You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, striding confidently towards me…" He focuses on her face again. "You were wearing a purple dress, and your hair was up."
She smiles and looks down, touched and impressed that he remembers so many details. Suddenly, everything makes a little more sense. "You panicked," she quietly remarks.
"Something like that," he chuckles. "I do not often react well to surprises," he explains.
"That is understandable. If a king is surprised, he generally winds up dead," she comments, understanding.
"Quite," he agrees with a nod, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks at his hands while he speaks. "So I was angry, but not with you. You… wound up receiving my anger and bewilderment, and I am sorry for it, but I was truly annoyed with Annis, wondering what game she was playing at. And I was surprised at my immediate attraction to you, which…"
"Scared you," she supplies, remembering what he had said earlier.
"Yes." He leans back. "I came back here and wrote a message to Annis, accusing her of all manner of things. Lying. Trickery." He pauses. "Matchmaking." Guinevere's eyes widen and he quickly adds, "I never sent the letter. I wrote it but knew better than to immediately send it."
"Oh, good," she sighs, wondering if Annis would have told her had she received such a letter.
He nods. "I have learned over the years that I sometimes have a tendency to… act rashly," he says, a slightly amused expression on his face.
"No!" she gasps in mock disbelief.
He laughs now, nodding. "I have also learned that it is important to wait until I have calmed down and am able to think clearly before completing said action." He looks away and adds, "Most of the time."
"The afternoon in the throne room?" she gently asks.
"Yes. That was not one of my finer moments," he agrees, reaching for her hand. "Nor was the day after the feast."
"Arthur," she says, twining her fingers with his. "I have already forgiven you for both of those. Please forgive yourself."
He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Guinevere. I do try to be a better king – and man – than my father was. Sometimes I fail, and I would ask that you be patient with me."
"Of course, Arthur," she answers, amazed at how her life has suddenly turned in a few short hours. "As long as you can forgive me for my occasional lapses in being able to control my words," she replies, knowing she has spoken out of turn to him more than once.
"My dear Guinevere," he says, lifting their joined hands to his lips, "I look forward to being on the receiving end of your… candor."
"Truly?" she asks, surprised.
"I have great respect for people who have the courage to speak up for what they feel is right, even if they know their words will not be met favorably," he answers, pondering her slender fingers.
She looks at him, nodding thoughtfully. "You never did seem to be the type of king – or man – who wished to be surrounded by sycophants," she says, thinking of his relationship with Merlin.
"If everyone always agrees with me, how am I to know if it is because I am truly right or if it is because I am merely their king?" he replies. "I want people to respect me enough to be honest with me just as I respect people who are honest with me."
"That is a noble, if sadly unusual, quality in a monarch," she replies. "More kings and queens should think this way." As soon as the words are out, she remembers Camelot's reputation for being "barbaric" or even "primitive". Oh, how wrong they all are.
"I agree, and that might be why I tend to keep to myself," he replies, almost as though he has read her thoughts. "Besides, Merlin cannot have all the fun." He looks at her, a slight smile on his face. "Your bold candor with me… it only made you more attractive, if I am to be perfectly honest. You are not afraid to speak up when you feel something is wrong. It is a very good quality to have. A very noble quality." He kisses her hand again, mainly because he cannot reach her lips. "A quality befitting a queen," he murmurs against her skin.
She gasps, surprised at his directness. She was fairly certain of his intentions, but did not expect him to address them so quickly. "Arthur," she whispers.
He looks at her, his blue eyes boring into hers. "I know where my heart lies. I think you know where yours does as well. As I said, we are too… mature to play games. Too experienced in life to pretend this isn't what it is, Guinevere," he says, carefully avoiding using the word "old" again.
Guinevere wordlessly nods, wondering if he can hear her heart attempting to pound its way out of her chest.
"You knew what my intentions were hours ago," he softly intones. "I am not formally asking you now, but I want you to know that I am not merely toying with your emotions."
"I know you wouldn't do that," she replies.
"Not to you."
"Not to anyone. I… I understand you, Arthur. I truly do," she says, her eyes widening when he slides down from his chair, dropping to his knees right in front of her.
"I know," he replies. "It's one of the many reasons why I may already be in love with you, Guinevere." He takes both of her hands and kisses them, holding them to his heart. "In fact, I am certain I am," he adds, his voice nearly a whisper.
His words topple whatever was yet remaining of the wall guarding Guinevere's feelings, and she frees one hand to stroke his cheek. He angles his face into her touch, his eyes closing, and she cannot stop herself from leaning forward and kissing him.
Arthur is only slightly surprised, his eyes opening wide for a split second before drifting closed once more. His free hand bunches her skirts to keep it from roaming inappropriately while the other still holds hers.
Then she moves, sliding her fingers into his hair, and he is undone. He presses forward, moving to lightly suck at her lower lip, coaxing them apart. A small noise escapes her throat as she opens her mouth under his, her tongue finding his immediately.
He surrenders, his hands now on her waist again, pulling her towards him until he is nestled in her skirts, not even feeling the floor beneath his knees.
They pull away from one another at the same time, both seeming to sense what might happen if they allowed themselves to continue.
Guinevere looks into his eyes, meeting his glazed expression with her own. "I love you, too, Arthur," she whispers.
"You do?" he replies, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes," she answers, smiling at how sweet and hopeful he looks right now. She imagines he looks very much like the promising young prince he once was. Like his sons.
He briefly, joyously kisses her once more.
xXx
Arthur walks Guinevere back to her rooms a short time later. He would have stayed up talking with her all night, but she mentioned Gwydre wishing to have class the next day, and he wanted her to get enough sleep.
They stand outside her doors, neither of them really wanting to say goodnight. He takes both of her hands in his. "Despite my prior comments about eschewing traditional rules of courtship, I plan on writing to your brother in the morning to ask for his blessing," he tells her.
Arthur's thoughtfulness warms her heart. "I think he would appreciate the gesture, even though he could hardly say 'No' to a king," she replies.
"From what you've told me, I daresay I would be in more danger from him if I decided not to court you," he chuckles.
She angles her head to the side. "Possibly," she evasively answers, a mysterious smile on her face.
"And it would be well within his rights to refuse, king or no," he says. "I am not a tyrant."
She smiles. "I know that. And if he thought you were mistreating me in any way, he would. In fact, he nearly drew his sword at the dinner table one evening because he thought there was a possibility you had behaved inappropriately towards me."
His eyebrows lift. He looks rather impressed. "Is that so?" She nods. "Good. I am glad to hear it."
Guinevere suddenly lets out a short snort of a laugh. "I should tell him about Lord Agravaine at the feast," she says, shaking her head.
Arthur's expression clouds. "Did he… did he try something at the feast?" he asks, his tone quite grave.
"Only a bit," she admits. "He merely grabbed my hand before Queen Morgana came to my rescue." She tells him what happened, and his expression further darkens until she reaches out and touches his cheek. "It's all right, Arthur. He won't bother me again."
He looks at her, face still troubled. "How do you know that?" he asks.
She strokes his cheek. "Because you will not allow it," she simply answers, and his expression clears, transforming into something tender and sweet as he gazes down at her.
He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close as he lowers his head towards hers. He boldly kisses her, there in the corridor outside her rooms, not caring one bit if anyone should pass by.
"Goodnight, Guinevere," he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers.
She pecks his lips once more and replies, "Goodnight, Arthur," before reluctantly extracting herself from his embrace and slipping into her rooms.